


The Princess and the Bastard

by SilverDust09



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: AU-story, Attraction between siblings, But they don't really know that they are siblings, Dany does not marry Drogo, Dragons, F/M, R Plus L Equals J, Rhaenys lives, The Targs stand together, Tyrion and Jon are bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2020-10-19 08:24:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 57
Words: 166,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20654144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverDust09/pseuds/SilverDust09
Summary: A brooding Jon Snow makes the aquaintance of a strange Princess.





	1. Jon

Jon watched as the younger squires poured down one cup after another. The sweet taste of summerwine lingered also in his mouth and brought a smile to his lips.

The Great Hall of Winterfell was bristling with guests, the smell of roasted meat and onions filling her nose. The minstrel’s song was strong and beautiful, yet here down at the end of the hall it could be scarcely heard.

It was the sixth hour of the welcoming feast, celebrated in honor of the King’s visit. As expected, Jon’s siblings were seated amidst the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord Stark and Lord Stark were entertaining the King and his Queen.

Down here on the benches it was less civilized. Here Jon could have his fill of wine. It was the first time in his life he was happy to be called a bastard. The squires were fine company too. Their tales about hunt and women made him smile.

The King’s arrival had excited him at first, but now his curiosity had been more than sated.

His father had come first, escorting the Queen inside the hall.

Queen Cersei was as beautiful as they said, all golden-haired and garbed in shining crimson. Yet, there was something distant and cold about her blinking green

Next the King had entered the hall, Lady Stark walking at his arm. He had been the greatest disappointment. He was a far cry from the warrior Lord Stark had spoken about in his tales.

After them, his siblings had entered the hall one after another. Rickon had walked alone, leading the pack, but had been unable to find his way. Jon had to direct him back to his place when he had stopped to visit. Then, Robb had entered with Princess Myrcella at his arm. She was a wisp of a girl, shy of eight, her hair a mane of golden curls and covered with a jeweled hairnet.

Jon couldn’t help but to notice the shy looks she was giving Robb. _She is smitten with him and Robb knows it going by his stupid smile._

Sansa was paired with Prince Tommen, whose white blond hair was longer than Arya’s. Sansa was gracious as ever, but he couldn’t help but to notice the longing looks she was throwing Crown Prince Joffrey, who walked hand in hand with his betrothed, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.

She too was a wisp of a girl, with dark hair that fell all the way to her waist. Jon had expected her hair to be darker, but it was more brown than black so common among the Dornish. Her skin was also lighter than he expected and her eyes were a deep shade of purple, nearly black.

Jon had never met a Targaryen, but they had been famous for their silver hair and purple eyes. Perhaps, that was the reason the King had agreed to wed the Princess to his heir. She only showed the barest hint of Targaryen blood.

Even, so she was quite pretty. She was lean and her face was well-formed. The golden dress she wore was not her color, but the jeweled hairnet with gleaming rubies suited her dark hair.

Yet, it was not hard to see that the Prince and the Princess held no much love for each other. The Princess’ face was a mask of indifference and Prince Joffrey carried a bored, disdainful look as he took in his surroundings.

Jon felt pity for the girl. She seem out of place among the royal family. Jon knew this feeling, though compared to this girl he had a family..

At last, the Queen’s brothers had entered the great hall. The Kingslayer and the Imp, as they were commonly called. There was no mistaking them. Ser Jaime was tall and golden-haired, with green eyes and a smile that cut like a knife.

The Imp was as ugly as Ser Jaime was beautiful. He was a dwarf, half his brother’s height. His head was large and misshapen. One of his eyes was green and one was black peering out from under a lank fall of blond hair.

Jon was fascinated, but he was distracted by someone rubbing against his leg beneath the table, only to find a pair of red eyes staring up at him.

Jon smiled and reached for a leg of honeyed chicken, feeding it to Ghost. Ghost ripped it apart, enjoying his supper. His siblings’ pups hadn’t been allowed to bring their direwolves to the banquet, but nobody had lost a word about the bastard’s wolf.

“Ah, this is one of the famous direwolfs?” asked a familiar voice, laced with laughter.

Jon smiled when he found his Uncle Benjen smiling down at him.

“Aye,” Jon confirmed and pointed at the wolf. “This is Ghost.”

The squires made room for his Uncle. Benjen Stark straddled the bench and took the cup of wine from Jon’s hand.

“Summerwine?” his Uncle asked and took a sip. “Nothing as sweet. How many cups did you have?”

Jon smiled.

“Ah, as I feared. I believe I was not much younger than you when I first got sincerely drunk,” his Uncle teased and picked a roasted onion from the plate. Swallowing, he pointed at the wolf.

“The wolf is very quit.”

“He is not like the others,” Jon agreed proudly. “He never makes a sound. That’s were his name comes from.”

“There are still direwolves beyond the Wall. We hear them when we are going ranging beyond the Wall,” his Uncle explained and gave him a strange look. “Don’t, you usually eat at the table with your siblings?”

“Most times,” Jon replied hesitatingly and averted his gaze. “But tonight. Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family.”

The mentioned of his father’s wife turned the sweet taste in his mouth sour.

“I see,” his Uncle said, a strange expression washing over his long face. “So, that is the Princess Rhaenys.”

Jon was confused why he would bring up the Princess.

“What of her?”

“Have you heard her story?”

“No.”

“They say the Kingslayer saved her life from Tywin Lannister’s henchmen. They say Tywin made her kneel before Robert Baratheon after he presented her mother’s and brother’s squashed corpses her. They also say Robert wanted to have her killed, but Jon Arryn and Ned convinced him otherwise. Ever since, the girl was a hostage and is now to be wed to the enemy. A fate I do not wish on my worst of my enemies.”

Jon had never heard this tale. Especially, not that the Kinslayer had saved her. The tale he had heard had said that Robert Baratheon had graciously shown mercy to Rhaegar Targaryen’s daughter.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“To put things into perspective for you,” his Uncle said and leaned closer. “Your father told me you want to join the Night’s Watch.”

Jon nodded his head. “It is true. I am only ten and four, but I am good at swordplay, better than Robb. I can also sit a horse as well as anyone in this castle.”

“I know that,” Benjen said. “But the life in the Night’s Watch is not easy. You could do so much more with your life. Be a knight, bed some girl, have some babes and then you can still ask yourself whether this life is the right choice for you.”

Jon felt like slapped. He felt hurt too. That was what he was to his Uncle. A green boy who knew nothing about the world.

The anger cut through him like a Valyrian steel sword, setting his guts aflame.

“I will never father a bastard! Never!”

Then, had stormed out of the hall, Ghost rushing after him like his shadow.

As he stepped outside, he found the yard quiet and empty. A lone sentry stood at the battlements of the inner wall , his pelted cloak tightly wrapped around him to ward off the cold.

Jon brushed his frozen tears away and wrapped his cloak tighter around his shoulders stamped through the snow.

“Oh!” a distant gasp reached his ears and caused him to turn around. It sounded like a girl. “Oh!”

A shadowed figure was sitting in the snow, Ghost atop her.

“Ghost!” Jon shouted, staggering towards the wolf, his head dizzy from the amount of wine he had consumed. “Come here, boy! Come…!”

His words died in his mouth when he saw who it was.

It was Princess Rhaenys, her face a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“Is this your wolf?” she asked.

“It’s a dirwolf,” he corrected her stiffly. He didn’t know how to speak to a Princess. “His name is Ghost.”

She chuckled and pulled herself back to her feet. Jon felt ashamed when he realized that he hadn’t even offered his hand to her.

Sansa would have chided him for his lack of manners.

“And who are you?” she asked, her dark eyes seizing him up. “You look like Lord Stark. Are you his kin?”

“I am Jon Snow,” he replied, unable to hide the bitterness rising up inside him.

“Oh,” she said. “That explains the direwolf. Your brother said that all his siblings have one. I should have realized it sooner.”

“I see,” Jon replied coldly and was about to leave, but she called after him.

“Wait,” she said. “Did I say something wrong?”

Jon couldn’t help but to give her a suspicious glance.

“Why would you care?”

Her eyes went wide.

“Pardon me, I do not understand,” she said hesitatingly and rubbed her shoulders. “Care about what?”

“To speak to a bastard.”

“Ah,” she said, realization washing over her. “Well, no. I do not care…I mean…I shan’t mind that you are bastard. And why should I? My Uncle has seven of them!”

Jon could only stare back at her in stunned silence. Was she trying to fool him?

Her delicate eyebrows rose to the top of her head.

“It is true,” she stuttered. “Though I admit…I have never met them. I would like too, though. Please don’t run off. I would like the touch the wolf…the direwolf…if you don’t mind.”

Jon knew he should have refused her, but the girl had shown him more kindness than most. And she was a real Princess.

“I don’t mind,” Jon replied and patted Ghost’s head. “Ghost, sit.”

Ghost obeyed and the Princess laughed again, clapping her hands together. She looked delighted.

“Can I touch him now?”

“Sure,” Jon explained, his cheeks burning, but not from the cold. “All should be well.”

The Princess nodded her head and touched Ghost’s head.

Ghost seemed to like it, for he brushed his head against her hand, before starting to lick over it.

The Princess giggled.

“I think he likes me.”

Jon was confused and patted Ghost’s head.

“That is enough. You are ruining Princess’ Rhaenys dress.”

“It is fine,” the Princess said and gave him a loop-sided smile as she rose back to her feet. “The dress was nothing more than an empty gift.”

Jon didn’t know what to make of her words.

“Well, Ghost is pleased to make your acquaintance.”

“I can see that,” the Princess. “What about you?”

Jon minded his manners and took her hand, lifting it to his lips.

“It was a pleasure for me too.”

“As for me,” she replied sweetly and reached for a ruby fastened on her hairnet. Then, she picked one and placed it into Jon’s hand.

“For you.”

Jon opened the hand and started at the ruby.

“And what am I to do with this?”

The Princess laughed as if he had asked her a very silly question.

“Isn’t there something you want, Jon Snow? A sword perhaps? Or a new horse? Well, with this ruby you could afford two or three of them. Do with it what you want. It is a gift.”

Jon shook his head in disbelief. “This is too much.”

She shook her head.

“It is not,” she replied determinedly and was gone as quickly as she had appeared. “It is not.”

It was true what the Princess had told him. With this ruby he could easily afford a horse or a proper sword.

Yet, there was something else he wanted.

A future, far away from Catelyn Stark.

To become a knight he would have to beg for his father’s permission, but with enough coin he could buy himself entrance into a lord’s service.

He could be what he had always wanted to be.

A knight.

…


	2. Jon

Jon had made up his mind when he was climbing up the staircase, mindful of every step. As he had promised his Lord Father, he would ride with his Uncle Benjen and Lord Tyrion to the Wall, but he wouldn’t stay there…instead he would ride south and find a place of his own, far away from Winterfell and from Lady Stark’s cold stares.

Ghost nuzzled at his hand, as he came to stand before Bran’s chamber. If not for his brother he wouldn’t have come here at all, but there was no other way.

His wolf licked his hand and Jon gathered his courage. Then, he pushed the door open and entered the dimly-lit chamber.

As expected, he found Lady Stark beside Bran’s bed. She had been there, day and night, for close a fortnight. Not for a moment she would leave Bran’s side, which made it all the harder for Jon to seek out his brother without avoiding his Lord Father’s wife.   


He stood in the door for a moment, hesitant to come closer. She had never physically hurt him, but her cold stars had been enough to instill misery into Jon’s young heart. At times, he had been jealous of his siblings, for having a mother that attended to their needs while he had to hide away in the shadows, devoid of love and affection. Sure, his Father showed him the attention he showed his other children, but that was not the same as having a mother of his own. Even the common children in the village had mothers, but Jon Snow had nothing. Not even a name to put on his mother.

Lady Stark lifted her head. She looked through him, as if he wasn’t really there. Then, she blinked and spoke, her voice flat and emotionless.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to see Bran,” Jon explained and tried to keep his composure. “To say good-bye.” _Not forever_, he reminded himself. _One day, when Robb is Lord of Winterfell I shall return as a knight and ask to enter into his service. Then, not even Lady Stark can send me away. Mayhaps I can even wed and have a son of my own._

The expression on her face did not change, her eyes red-rimmed and narrowed in obvious displeasure.

“You have done what you must do. Now leave.”

The young boy in him wanted to flee, but Bran might die in his absence. Thus, he stepped forward and tried to sound polite.

“Please, my Lady.”

Something as cold as ice flashed in her eyes.

“I want you to leave!” she told him icily. “We don’t want you here.”

As a boy such words would have sent him running. Now it made him just angry.

_I shall be a knight_, he reminded himself. _And a knight has to put up with worse dangers than Lady._

“He is my brother,” he insisted firmly, meeting her gaze.

He saw the displeasure on her face and the hatred burning beneath those cold eyes.

“Shall I call for the guards?”

“Call them,” Jon replied defiantly. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.”

Then, he crossed the room with a beating heart and looked down at his brother.

She was still holding unto Bran’s hand. It looked like a claw.

Bran was no longer the lively boy he recalled. His skin stretched tight over his bones like sticks. Under the blanket, he could see his bent legs. The sight made him sick, but the worst were his eyes: sunken deep into black pits and open, but empty.   


Yet, his chest was rising and falling with a shallow breath.

“Bran,” he said in a trembling voice. “I am sorry I didn’t come before…I was afraid,” he stuttered, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Please, don’t die. We are all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone…”

Lady Stark had watched him in silence. Jon took that for a sign of acceptance and listened as the sorrowful howl of Bran’s wolf reached his ears.

“I have to go now,” Jon declared as he leaned down to kiss Bran’s clammy cheek. “Uncle Benjen is waiting.”

“I wanted him to say here with me,” Lady Stark said then, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jon watched her with a wary look. She was not even looking at him. For her he was not even here.

“I prayed for it,” she continued weakly. “He was my special boy. I even went to the Sept and asked the gods to make Ned change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes, prayers are answered in the worst way possible.”

Jon was hesitant to answer, but couldn’t remain silent either.

“It wasn’t your fault, my Lady.”

She lifted her eyes and looked at him directly. They were icy like the winds of the North. “I haven’t no need of your absolution, bastard.”

Jon shouldn’t have expected more and squeezed Bran’s hand once more. They were as thin as the bones of a bird. “Farewell, then…brother.”

Jon had nearly reached the door when she called out to him.

“Jon,” she said, his name foreign on her tongue. It was the first time she had called him by his name.

He turned back around, trying not to blink as he met her icy gaze.

“Yes, my Lady?” he asked.

“I should have been you,” she told him and started to sob, her whole body shaking.

Jon wanted to flee, but something compelled him to stay.

Perhaps it was the prospect of a future or perhaps it was the anger that had stirred in his gut when she had wanted to call for the guards.

He pitied her for her suffering, but there were something he had wanted to tell her a long time, but had never found the courage to do so.

“Then, I am sorry for surviving so long, my Lady,” he said and tried to keep his voice low. It wouldn’t serve him to insult the Lady of Winterfell. “Well, I am alive and I shall stay so if the gods grant it. Bran is my brother and I would give my life to make him whole again. The same goes for Robb and my other siblings. I would never harm them, no matter what you like to think of me.”

He waited for her to take in what he had said and she stared back at him with unconcealed hatred.

“Keep your lies to yourself, bastard,” she snapped at him and Jon left as miserable as before. “And leave _my_ family at peace.”

The walk outside was long, but when the icy wind touched his cheeks his misery left him.

Outside, everything was full of noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting and horses were being saddled.

Robb came his way and smiled. Greywind was padding beside him, his waving left and right. He seemed excited to see Ghost and was soon rolling in the snow.

“Uncle Benjen is looking for you,” Robb told Jon. “He wanted to leave an hour ago.”

“I know,” Jon reassured Robb and looked around. “Leaving his harder than I thought.”   


Tears were burning in his eyes, frozen tears.  
  
“For me too,” Robb admitted. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body. “Did you see Bran?”

Jon nodded his head.

“I did.”

“You Starks are hard to kill,” Jon told his brother and patted his shoulder.

Robb immediately knew that something was amiss. “My mother…,” he began, but Jon nodded his head and smiled.

“She was very kind,” he assured Robb. Another lie.

Robb laughed in obvious relief. “Good…I suppose the next time I see you, you will be all in black?”

_No, I will be a knight_, Jon wanted to reply but smiled instead. _Perhaps black would even suit a knight._

“It was always my color.”

Robb laughed and embraced him fiercely. “Farewell, Snow.”  


Jon returned his hug. “And you, Stark. Take care of Bran.”

“I promise,” Robb replied and smiled once more. “Uncle Benjen told me to send you to the stables.”

“I shall go to him, but before that I have one more farewell to make.”

Jon left him there and went to the armory to pick up his package.

He found Arya in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than his little sister. Nymeria was helping too. Arya pointed at the things she needed and the wolf would cross the room, snatch up the garments and deliver them to his sister.

But when Nym smelled Ghost’s presence, she stopped and turned her head to look at Jon.

Arya turned around and jumped to her feet. She was quick to throw her skinny arms around his shoulders and nuzzled his cheek.

“I was afraid you were gone,” she said, her breath soft and warm against his cheek.

“What is wrong?” he asked in amusement.

Arya freed herself from his grip and frowned. “It was all packed, but the Septa told me to do it all over again. ‘A proper lady doesn’t just throw her clothes inside a chest like old rags’.”

“And is that what you did, little sister?” he asked teasingly.

She gave him a crooked smile. “Well, my garments going to get messed up anyway. Who cares if they are folded?”

“Septa Mordane,” Jon gave her the hard truth. ”And I don’t think she would be pleased to see Nymeria helping. The wolf stared back at him with her bright golden eyes. She was much sweeter than Ghost. The Princess had liked him just fine, though, even after he had made her kiss the snow.

“Well, that is not why I came here….I have a something for you.”

Arya’s face lightened up like a room full of candles.

“A gift for me?”

Jon laughed. “You could call it that…but close the door.”

Arya did so and even sent her wolf outside.

Then, she took in his gift, her grey eyes wide in wonder.

“A sword,” she whispered in disbelief. “For me?”  


Jon freed the blade slowly, so Arya could get a better look at the shining steel.

“This is no toy,” he explained and handed it to her. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave.”

Arya giggled. “Girl’s don’t shave, stupid!”

Jon laughed. “Maybe they should…Septa Mordane’s legs are in dire need of a good shaving. Jory said she has more hairs down there than a bear.”

Arya grinned and held out the blade in front of her.

“It’s so skinny,” she said and giggled.

“So are you,” Jon added. “The Braavosi use swords like this. It can’t take off a man’s head, but poke him full of holes if you prove quick enough, little sister.”  


“I can be very fast,” Arya assured him with a nod of her head.

“You have to practice every day,” Jon told her and showed her how to hold it properly. “How does it feel? Do you like it?”  


Arya nodded her head.

“I think so.”

“First lesson,” Jon explained. “Stick them with the pointy end.”

Arya gave him a playful slap. “I know which end to use.”

Jon found himself grinning like a fool. Even Lady Stark’s cold words couldn’t touch him now.

He had the Princess’ gift and Arya’s love. That was all he would ever need.

“Septa Mordane is going to take it away,” Arya added sadly.

“Well, she doesn’t have to know about it,” Jon pointed out and pulled her into another embrace, his hand brushing through her hair. “Just don’t ever…,” he began, but Arya’s knowing smile silenced him momentarily.

“Don’t…tell…Sansa about it!”

They had said it together and were now laughing.

When they were done, Jon regarded the sword once more.

“It needs a name, you know…All good swords have names.”

Arya nodded her head in agreement and kissed his cheek.

“Needle!”

...


	3. Jon

The dark forests of the north spread behind him, beckoning him to return. His heart had ached with guilt when he had told his Uncle Benjen about his plans. Surprisingly, Benjen Stark had only pulled him into a tight embrace and had told him to go to Lord Blackwood, one of the few southron lords who worship the old gods.

Jon wasn’t sure if he should follow this advice, but for the time being he had taken up Lord Tyrion’s offer to travel south in his company.

“You look as gloomy as the dark clouds above, Jon Snow,” his travelling companion quipped. Jon smiled, as he had long gotten used to Lord Tyrion’s biting humor. At first, he had been mistrustful of the dwarf, who liked to mock Jon, but since he had told him that he wanted to ride south, the dwarf had changed his attitude towards him. “Why is that?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders and led his horse along the _Kingsroad_. Here, the path was frozen and sharp winds made his chees burn whenever he lowered the hood of his cloak.

“It’s never easy to leave one’s home,” he replied.

Tyrion nodded his head. “The South isn’t that bad, you know? For once it is much warmer there and you can sleep outside without freezing your balls off. The wenches are also much better looking. Nothing against your Northern ladies, but they are bit too hairy for my taste.”

Jon smiled. The dwarf was truly amusing. He was a bit like Theon Greyjoy, but not as insufferable.

“Well, its cold in the North. The hairier the better.”

Tyrion grinned. “A good argument.”

“Well, in the South you will find silken cunts and legs aplenty. It is a dream come true.”

Jon exhaled deeply, white mist rising from his mouth.

“As I said…I do not understand much about girls, clean-shaven or not.”

“And why is that?” Lord Tyrion asked. “You are better looking than me. You should have had a hundred girls by now.”

“I am a bastard,” Jon replied sourly. “You know so much.”

“Doesn’t keep other bastards from bedding girls.”

“It’s dishonorable to father bastards,” Jon argued.

“Whos says that? Your father? Well, then he ought to remove the moniker ‘honorable’ from his name, for the oh so honorable Lord Stark fathered a bastard himself…you. Besides, King Robert fathered at least twenty of them and I doubt he thinks ill of himself. On the contrary, I think he enjoyed himself quite a lot.”

“It’s not a good life for a child,” Jon replied with growing frustration. It was not the first time the dwarf had made such allusions and it was a touchy point he didn’t wish to discuss with a person he only knew for several weeks.

“Who told you that? I give you that, the life of a baseborn bastard is a hard one, but the life of a noble bastard is often quite comfortable. You grew up in a castle, I see no reason how you can complain.”

“Lady Stark hated me,” he replied, seething. “That is the very reason I am leaving.”

“So what?” Tyrion asked. “My own sister hates me. At least, Lady Stark has a good reason for it. Besides, you are now far away from her. Throw away your grudges and burdens, Jon Snow, and realize your possibilities. The world is waiting for you…”

Jon couldn’t argue with that and gave a silent nod.

They rode for a few more hours, before the sky had changed to an inky color and the first stars were appearing on the distant horizon.

They made camp beside the road, choosing a clearing filled with Ironwoods as a protection against the heavy snowfall.

“We are a days’ ride from Winterfell,” Jon remarked as he stirred the flames back to life. “But I would prefer to avoid going there. You and I should take lodging in Wintertown or move on.”

Tyrion gave him a curious look.

“Because of Lady Stark? Don’t you want to see your brother?”

“For your sake, my Lord,” he lied. “Lady Stark holds no love for your family. The only reason you were received kindly was my father’s friendship with King Robert. Truth be told, my father doesn’t hold much love for your Lord Tywin. He despises Lord Tyrion for his actions during the Rebellion.”

The dwarf blinked once, twice and a third time. Then, he started to howl with laughter and patted his legs.

“You are a joy to have, Lord Snow!” he exclaimed and was shaken by another bout of laughter. “But you really need to learn how to guard your tongue. The South does not appreciate bluntness.”

“I suppose that is true,” Jon added and put his hand into vest of his cloak, to touch the ruby. He was hesitant to show his gift to the dwarf. “I am honest…I am not even sure if anyone of these southron lords are willing to accept a bastard like me?”

“They will accept you once you show them that you know how to wield a blade. No, lord would a good swordsman, but they won’t pay you shit for posing as a simple man-at-arms. If you want to be a proper squire you need coin.”

“I have only this,” Jon replied hesitatingly and opened his hand to show him the ruby. “Do you think it would be enough?”

Tyrion’s eyes glinted as he picked up the ruby.

“Who gave you that?”

“Someone,” Jon replied curtly, deciding to abide by Lord Tyrion’s advice. “Does it matter? I didn’t steal it, but I think others might think I did.”

“Very true,” Tyrion replied and brushed his stubby chin. Then, he grinned. “I think I have a solution for your problem, Jon Snow. Serve me instead. I know the South and you won’t even have to pay a single dime.”

Jon couldn’t believe his ears. Was the dwarf mocking him?

“You are a Lannister,” he was about to protest, but Lord Tyrion silenced him with a broad grin. “Not your typical Lannister, though. Besides, I am always in need of protection and it doesn’t have to be forever. If you find someone better you can always move on. I shan’t be heartbroken about it.”

Jon didn’t know what to say. It was better than to go from door to door, begging to be taken in or being accused of stealing. His last interaction with Lady Stark had made it only clearer to him that people from the South would think the worst of him.

“I shall take your offer for _now_,” Jon replied hesitatingly and leaned closer, trying to ignore Yoren, who was snoring next to the fire. He had been tasked to accompany Tyrion to King’s Landing to recruit men for the Night’s Watch and had given Jon sour looks ever since their departure from Castle Black. “But do you know a way to turn this into coin without getting accused as a thief?”

Tyrion nodded his head and whispered his answer into Jon’s ear.

“There are plenty of ladies who would buy this kind of stone. Shouldn’t be too hard. You will be a rich man, Jon Snow.”

Jon couldn’t bring himself to believe the dwarf. He was a friend, but he was still a Lannister.

“Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because you are like me,” Tyrion replied. “Well, much better looking that is for sure, but you are an outsider like me. You don’t really belong anywhere. The way you grew up makes you ill-fit with lowborns and the fact that you are a bastard makes you ill-fit with the high lords. I am much the same. I was born a high lord, but in my father’s eyes I am as despised as a bastard. I like to think the two of us could be good friends.”

Jon acknowledged the dwarf’s reply with a wry smile.

“A good argument. I am certainly in need of a friend, even if he is a Lannister.”

“And I like you despite your gloomy temper.”

“I am not gloomy,” Jon replied. “I am just myself.”

“You are not yourself,” Tyrion argued. “You are too young for that. You will change as time goes by and I could help you with that.”

Jon didn’t like the sound of that.

“What could you help me with?”

“Girls,” Tyrion explained. “I might not look like it, but even a blind man can see that you are in dire need of a proper girl to bed. That will brush away your gloominess.”

“I won’t father…,” he began, keeping his voice low. “A bastard.”

Tyrion chuckled drily and pulled his silver flask out of the pocket of his cloak. He uncorked it quickly and took a sip, before speaking again.

“Do you really have such a low opinion of these girls? None of them want bastards and most know how to avoid getting with child. Moon tea is a dream come true for men like us.”

Jon had heard of this, but it sounded too good to be true.

“I don’t like whores.”

“Well, a tavern wench then. We might come across some in the Crossroad at the Inn. The girls there are quite pretty.”

Jon had heard enough.

“I am exhausted,” he declared and curled up beneath his furs. Ghost joined and snuggled closer. “I need to sleep.”

As Jon had recommended, they avoided Winterfell. Only Yoren went to ask Robb for recruits, but spoke no word of his travelling companions. Yet, he was kind enough to give report everything had herd. Lady Stark had left Winterfell and Bran had recovered.

In that moment, Jon had nearly gone back to Winterfell, but Tyrion had stopped. It would only be harder for him if he looked back, the dwarf had argued.

Thus, they had left _Wintertown_ when the first rays of sunshine touched his frozen cheeks.

They reached the Neck four days later and moved onwards into the Riverlands, a land so green that Jon couldn’t believe his eyes.

During the day, he had to pull off his pelted cloak or feared to burn alive beneath the southron sun.

They rode for weeks, rolling hills of green pasture and thick woods spreading as far as the eye could see.

Two weeks they travelled, before they reached the tavern Tyrion had called the _Inn at the Crossroads._

Jon was awed by the amount of people. The common hall as filled to the brim, the smell of ale and broth filling Jon’s nose with longing. They had lived on mulled wine and dried meat for weeks and Jon hoped for a proper meal and a dry bed. The Riverlands were much warmer than the North, but they were plagued by constant bouts of rain.

“A soft bed,” Tyrion sighed and hopped unto the wooden bed, bringing forth a creaking sound. “There is nothing better than that. Now we only need some proper wine and a girl to keep us company.”

Jon nodded his head. “I would prefer a meal first. I am starving. Ghost as well…I fear he is going to eat you if we don’t find him some meat.”

Tyrion chuckled and hopped from the bed. “Then, let’s go. Yoren must be waiting for us.”

Jon whistled and Ghost followed. They found some pleasant place beside the hearth and Ghost received some scraps from one of the girls working in the inn. She was tall and pale-faced, her dark hair reaching nearly to her ankles.

She was also staring at his wolf as she was serving them broth and soft bread.

“I have never seen such a big dog, M’Lord,” she remarked with a smile. Jon was impressed that she was not the least bit afraid.

“Do you want to touch him?” Jon asked, for the lack of a better answer.

The girl shook her head. “Better not. I smell of meat and blood…he might think me his next supper. A beast like that must eat a lot.”

“He usually hunts his own food,” Jon explained and watched her go. She was thin like Arya, but she had a kind smile. And she had even called him M’Lord.

She came back later after Lord Tyrion had ordered the next bottle of wine.

Jon liked Lord Tyrion’s tales, but his jests very bad. Thus, occupied himself with observing the guests. There were people from all over the Seven Kingdoms lodging in this tavern. Ladies in colorful shawls sat around a table and were playing a game of cards while their guardsmen were watching them closely, A round of hulky men were playing a drinking game and a fat minstrel was playing a sweet song for a handful of maids and their drunken companions. There were even two strangely-looking merchants with painted hair.

And serving them ale was the girl with the dark hair.

“The girl is called Jeyne,” Tyrion remarked. “You should talk to her.”

“I have already talked to her,” Jon replied and watched as she drew closer, bringing Yoren a piece of honey cake. “She doesn’t seem interest.”

“You think exchanging a handful of words is enough, Jon? Well, that might work for my brother Jaime, but not for you.”

“First rule, “ Lord Tyrion whispered into his ear and pulled on his tunic. “Smile. Second rule: ask for her name. Third rule: Say something nice and ask her to sit with you. Not that difficult, is it?”

Jon drew in a deep breath as she approached.

Then, he lifted his bowl.

“Can I have a bit more, My Lady?”

She chuckled. “Of course.”

She returned quickly, a steaming bowl of broth in hand. “Here….Do you want some bread?”

“No,” Jon replied, for that would mean to see her go again. “I would like some wine…Do you like wine too?”

He had stumbled over his words like a fool and now he had got the order wrong.

“I actually meant to ask for your name?”

Strangely, the girl didn’t seem offended by his blunt question.

“Jeyne,” she replied and brushed the sweat from her brow. She truly smelled of roasted onions and meat, but it was not a bad smell. At least, she didn’t smell like the whores Theon liked to go too. “And you are?”

“Jon,” he replied hesitatingly. “Jon Snow.”

If she was insulted it didn’t show on her face. She simply laughed and jerked her head at the backdoor of the common room. “I shall get myself a cup and then we can speak, Jon.”

Jon had expected her to run away, but not long after she returned with a cup of mulled wine in hand.

She emptied half her cup as she told him stories about the Inn. “It belongs my good Aunt and is known far and wide. I wouldn’t trade it for any place in the world.”

Jon smiled. “I know a place like that too, but I couldn’t stay. I want to be a knight.”

Jeyne laughed and drew closer, her breath warm on his cheek. She smelled of cider. Then, she smiled and touched his thigh.

Jon nearly jumped out of his skin and exhaled deeply, trying to overplay his childish reaction.

She gave him a confused look.

“Isn’t that what you want?”

Jon didn’t know what to say. He had never met such a forward girl.

“Is that what you want?”

The girl’s gaze darkened. “What kind of question is that?”

“I meant…I just didn’t expect you to be so forward…,” he stuttered like a fool. He was sure that Lord Tyrion and Yoren were laughing about him behind his back, but he didn’t dare to turn around.

“Ah, I see,” she said and leaned closer, grinning. “You are a maid, aren’t you?”

Jon’s cheeks burned.

“And you are not?”

“No,” Jeyne replied strangely serious. “But I am no whore either. I don’t lay with men I don’t want. I am no nobody. I will one day owe this place.”

_More than I ever got_, Jon thought bitterly.

“Well, only if you want…,” he offered.

She laughed and took his hand, squeezing it lightly.

“Let’s go upstairs then. My bed is not as soft as your lord’s featherbed, but better than nothing.”

Jon nodded his head and smiled triumphantly, but there was still the taste of shame in his mouth.

Jeyne was quick to discard her gown and freed her black hair from its braid. It looked like a river of ink, all shiny and soft to touch.

“Are you afraid?” Jeyne teased. “You want to be knight. A true knight wouldn’t be afraid to bed a girl.”

So much was true and thus Jon Snow cast away his shame.

He kissed her clumsily, then a bit harder, before she pulled him closer and showed him how it was done properly, all wet and soft.

Then, he was rolling in her bed and somehow managed to wriggle out of his garments. Suddenly, he found himself at a loss of words when he saw her white pert breast so close to his face.

“You can touch it,” she told him. “I don’t mind.”

She gasped, soft puffs of air leaving her mouth as he probed the soft flesh.

Then, he searched her face again.

She laughed excitedly and gave him a firm slap over the shoulder. It seemed she enjoyed teaching him as much as Jon had enjoyed touching her.

“Now lay down.”

Jon obeyed and soon they were entangled once more. He pulled her closer, but didn’t really know what to do until she straddled him and touched him with her rough hands.

A gasp spilled from her lisp as he entered her, rocking against him ever slowly. Jon instinctively grabbed her behind, to hold her still.

“Did it hurt?” She asked teasingly.

Jon laughed hoarsely and felt as if he was being burned alive.

“I have never felt better.”

Jeyne chuckled lightly and soon his body was betraying him in the worst way possible, leaving him exhausted and lazy.

Jeyne did not sleep beside him. When they were done, she quickly pulled on her dress and left to attend back to the guests, but allowed him to sleep in her bed.

When morning dawned, Jon realized what had happened and quickly pulled on his tunic and breaches, followed by his boots.

He was still fastening his cloak as he was descending down the steps where he found Tyrion speaking to the owner of the tavern, a plump woman that shared Jeyne’s dark eyes.

Jeyne was beside her, smiling sweetly.

“They say the sky is much less gloomy today, “ Tyrion told him with a knowing smile. “I wonder why?”

Jon felt a mixture of pride and shame washing over him.

“None of your business,” Jon replied bluntly and looked around. “And we should be well on our way….Where is Yoren?”

“Reading the horses,” Tyrion explained. “I thought we break our fast before we move on. What do you think?”

Jon was about to open his mouth, when he noticed a familiar face standing in the common room. Only at the second glance, did he recognize Ser Roderik, for his whiskers were gone and he was garbed in lighter clothing than usual.

Yet, it was not Ser Roderik’s sight that made him freeze on the spot…Lady Stark’s icy gaze met his across the room and it took only the blink of a moment before Tyrion noticed her presence as well.

“Lady Stark…?” Tyrion asked in surprise and was about to say more, but Lady Stark ignored him and glanced around the room. There were several knights, her blue eyes coming to rest at a man in the corner.

“You in the corner,” she said to the young knight and the elderly man beside him. “Is that the black bat of Harrenhall I see embroidered on your surcoat, Ser?”

The man got to his feet and Jon tried his best to make sense of her actions.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out of it. Ghost yelped beside him, but he silenced him with a pat on his head.

Roderik was also eying him warily.

Jon swallowed hard, knowing very well what the man must think of him.

_He believes I abandoned the Night’s Watch. I need to be careful._

“It is,” the man replied and got to his feet. “Why are you asking, my Lady?”

“And is Lady Whent a true and honest friend to my father, Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun?”

“She is,” the man replied.

Ser Roderik loosened his sword then, staring at Lord Tyrion and at Jon with a blank face. Jon brushed his hand over the hilt of his own blade, not knowing what to do.

“The red stallion is was ever welcome in Riverrun,” Lady Catelyn replied. “My father counts Jonos Bracken as his oldest and most loyal bannerman.”

The three men exchanged wary looks.

“Our lord is honored by your trust,” they replied and Jon decided to step in.

“My Lady…there is no need for this. I did not break my vows…I simply changed my mind and decided to seek my fortune in the South.”

Lady Stark said nothing, but Ser Roderik gave him an understanding nod.

“Its not you we want, Snow,” Ser Roderik was about to explain, but Lady Stark silenced him.

“Do not listen to the bastard. He lied to my husband…we cannot trust him.”

“My Lady…,” Roderik began, but Lady Stark wanted to hear none of it. Jon felt suddenly very sick and clenched his teeth.

“My Lady…,” he began, but Lady Stark cut him off again.

“Be silent, bastard! Do you think anyone will believe your vile lies?”

Then, she whirled around and shifted her attention to another group of men, garbed in blue and grey finery.

“I know your sigil as well: the twin towers of Frey. How fares your good lord, Sers?”

The captain rose. “Lord Walder is well as ever, my Lady. He plans to take a new bride soon.”

Jon knew they had lost when Lady Catelyn smiled.

“This man came as a guest into my house and conspired to murder my son, a boy of seven. The boy beside him is my husband’s bastard…he must have aided him…He swore to my husband that he would join the Night’s Watch and now he is here in company of this man…He must have aided him. There is no other explanation,” she proclaimed loudly to everyone in the room. “In the name of King Robert and the good lords you serve, I call upon you seize them and help me return to Winterfell to await the King’s Justice.”

Jon had to keep Ghost back when the men drew their swords at them, his heart nearly jumping out of his chest…

…


	4. Jon

**Jon**

“This is utter madness, my Lady!” Jon protested, trying to keep his voice low and Ghost in check. “I broke no oath! Ask Yoren…he went to the stables to ready our horses…he can confirm my words!”

Lady Stark ignored him, but Ser Roderik patted his shoulder.

“I believe you, my boy,” he whispered as they moved on to the stables. To his relief Jon spotted Yoren coming their way, his eyes fixed on Lord Tyrion, who was being guarded by the men that sworn themselves to Lady Stark’s service.

“What’s going on, M’Lord?” he inquired and swept his gaze over Lady Stark and the rest of the assembled men. “Have you found yourself new travelling companions?”

“We are no travelling companions,” Lady Stark replied coldly. “We took this man and the boy into custody. Lord Tyrion is accused of attempted murder and Jon Snow…he must have broken his oath. He was supposed to join the Night’s Watch.”

“I can’t speak for the dwarf,” Yoren confirmed and looked at Jon. “But the boy is as innocent as a maid. The boy asked to leave and The Lord Commander gave him permission to do so.”

Lady Catelyn’s lips changed to a firm as her blue eyes flickered to Jon.

“See, my Lady. I didn’t lie,” Jon told her.

“You are still a dishonest bastard,” she snarled. “You _promised _Ned that you would join the Night’s Watch.”

Jon realized in that moment, why she was really angry.

This wasn’t just about Bran. It was about him, Jon Snow.

Anger stirred in his gut as he realized the implications.

_She wants me gone_. _That way I would no longer pose a danger for Robb…_

“Aye, I agreed, but only because that is what I wanted. Well, I changed my mind and decided to travel south to become a knight. That is all there is to it, my Lady.”

Roderik was stunned by this revelation and drew closer.

“Why did you never say so, my boy?” he asked and searched his face. “I could have…,” he was about to continue, but Lady Stark cut him off.

“You won’t do anything of that sort, good Ser,” Lady Stark added icily. “I won’t have the boy in Winterfell. The only place fit for him is the Wall. Ned and I agreed on that.”

Jon felt liked slapped.

“My father really said that?”

“No,” Ser Roderik interjected. “Lord Stark never said anything of the sort, at least not to me. My Lady, I think you are not yourself….,” he was about to continue and reached out for Lady Stark, who slapped his hand away.

“Enough of this nonsense!” she snapped back and shuddered from head to toe. “We will take them both to Winterfell. The boy may not be an oathbreaker, but he was travelling with the enemy. He could be his accomplice.”

Jon had heard enough.

“I would never harm Bran!” he shouted, all his anger bursting forward at once. “Never!”

Lady Stark stared back at him, her face blank.

Then, she gave a silent nod as if Jon’s burst of anger had only confirmed what she had thought of him all along.

“There you see it, Ser Roderik,” she said and exhaled deeply. “The boy hates me. And he lied before. We cannot trust him.”

“My Lady,” Roderik said with a heavy sigh on his lips. “I have known Jon Snow all my life. He is not prone to lying and I do not see why we should mistrust him.”

“You may believe whatever you want,” Lady Stark replied stubbornly. “But I am your Lady and you ought to obey me. The boy is our prisoner until his innocence is proven.”

Roderik exhaled deeply and gave Jon an apologetic look.

“Don’t fret, Jon,” he said and patted his shoulder again. “All shall be well.”

Lady Stark glanced at him one last time, before shifting her attention back to Lord Tyrion.

“We must ride at once. We don’t have time to waste.”

“Winterfell it is,” the dwarf muttered to himself and looked as if he had accepted his fate for now.

They left at once, nudging their horses into a fast gallop. Only when they had put a certain amount of distance between themselves and the Inn, Lady Stark allowed them to slow down.

Jon cared neither about the sopping rain nor the twisting road. He had never felt angrier, though at least they hadn’t tied him up like Lord Tyrion.

_Like a common traitor_, Jon thought and clenched his teeth as he maneuvered his horse up a steep path.

And all the while it was raining and this bloody singer, who had decided to follow them, was babbling.

His constant babbling made Jon want to strangle him.

When the rain had finally eased, Lady Stark gave the command to dismount. It was only then, when dark clouds cleared and the sun lightened the surroundings that Jon realized that they were not riding for Winterfell.

Before them lay a stony road, the foothills rising high and snowcapped peaks looming ahead.

His must have blinded him to the reality at hand and it seemed Lord Tyrion was sharing his blindness.

“This is the High Road,” Lord Tyrion gasped and voiced what Jon was thinking. “You said we were riding for Winterfell!”

Catelyn Stark smiled. “Often and loudly. No doubt your friends will ride that way when they come after us. I wish them good fortune in their endeavors.”

_Clever_. Jon had to give her that, but it made the situation much worse. Robb would have believed Jon, but Lady Stark’s sister was a wild card.

Jon shuddered, but felt his courage return when he noticed Ghost walking beside him.

The stopped rarely, only as long as it took to feed and water the horses and then they were riding again.

Jon kept silent and watched everything closely. Occasionally, he shifted his attention to Lord Tyrion. At first, he had been bound, but the further they had travelled into the Eyrie, the more freedom he had been granted. Jon was only being watched by Roderik, who looked very torn whenever Jon looked at him.

_He doesn’t like this_, Jon could tell. _He wishes my father was here._

Lady Stark was different. She made them ride day and night, but eventually even her sworn knights seemed to grow weary of the fast pace she was trying to force upon them.

On the third day, Ser Willis Wode asked of Lady Stark to rest for a night near an icy stream where their horses could get their fill of water and grass that grew along the narrow road.

Lady Stark wanted to hear none of it.

“We will lose more than horses if we are attacked by the Lannisters,” she argued, her face gaunt and pale. She looked truly exhausted, but she had lost none of her stubborn determination. That was something Arya had inherited from Lady Stark, but that didn’t mean it was a good thing.

No, Jon had a really bad feeling about all this. Ser Roderik may be on his side, he had deferred to Lady Stark’s will before.

And there was also Lord Tyrion. In his anger Jon hadn’t even realized what Lady Stark’s accusations meant for him.

Strangely, Jon couldn’t bring himself to believe Lady Stark’s accusations, for he saw no reason why he would harm Bran.

Still, doubted gnawed at him. _Or am I the fool? Did the dwarf manipulate me?_

He couldn’t say. He only knew that he needed to be careful if he wanted to get out of this alive.

“I doubt that, my Lady,” Lord Tyrion added suddenly, interrupting Lady Stark’s and Ser Willis’ conversation.

“The Lady did not ask for your opinion, dwarf,” added Kurleket, a man-at-arms sworn to House Bracken. He was a fat oaf with short-cropped hair and a pig’s face.

There were others as well, his friends Lharys and Mohor, the two sellswords Bronn and Chiggen and of course the bloody singer.

Lady Stark brushed her braid over her shoulder and drew closer.

“Let the dwarf speak.”

Tyrion Lannister took his seat atop a rock and explained his thoughts. “By now our pursuit is likely racing across the Neck…assuming there is even such a pursuit, which is by no means certain. Oh, I have no doubt that word has reached my father by now, but that doesn’t mean he will send men to find me. He does love me not, my Lady. Even so, this land is cruel and I might die. This my father won’t like at all.”

Jon had heard no hint of fear in the dwarf’s voice. He was lying, at least partly, so much he could tell.

Lord Tyrion had told him more than once that his Lord Tywin held not much love for his youngest son, but even so he hadn’t disinherited him nor sent him to the Citadel like many a Lord might have done in his stead.

No, Lord Tywin may hate his son, but it seemed he was proud enough to have him treated as a trueborn Lannister.

This made Jon also fairly certain that Lord Tywin wouldn’t let this go without consequences…

It was a frightening notion.

“It might be said that your death is the point,” Lady Stark added solemnly.

She had directed these words at Lord Tyrion, but Jon couldn’t help but to wonder if she also desired his death….

“I think not,” Lord Tyrion quipped back. “If you wanted me dead you only had to say the word.”

Lady Stark furrowed her brows.

“The Starks do not murder men in their beds.”

_No, but abduct them without considering the consequences of such actions_, Jon thought.

“Nor do I, my Lady,” Lord Tyrion replied with a deep sigh. “I tell you once more, I had no part in the attempted murder of your son.”

“The assassin was armed with _your_ dagger,” Lady Stark insisted firmly. She had brought up these accusations before and had even described this dagger in great detail to Lord Tyrion.

It had been a precious thing, made from Valyrian Steel, not something anyone could afford. Even so, there was something rotten about the tale.

Jon couldn’t believe that a smart man like Lord Tyrion would place _his_ dagger in the hands of some catspaw.

“How many times must I swear?” Lord Tyrion asked in a weary tone. “Lady Stark, whatever you may believe of me, I am not a stupid man. Only a fool would arm his assassin with _his_ own blade.”

Jon saw a flicker of doubt in Lady Stark blue eyes, but it lasted only for the blink of a moment.

“Why would Petyr lie to me?” she asked Lord Tyrion.

She had mentioned the name before, but back then hadn’t paid much attention, because he had been to miserable to listen.

“Why does a bear shit in the woods?” Lord Tyrion asked in return and patted his knee. “Because it is in his nature. Littlefinger is much the same…lying comes as easily to him as breathing. You ought to know that, my Lady.”

Lady Stark’s mouth fell open and she stepped forward.

“What are you trying to say?”

Tyrion cocked his head to the side and grinned. “Everyone at court has heard Littlefinger’ tale on how he took your maidenhead.”

“A vile lie!” Lady Stark exclaimed and clutched her chest.

Jon didn’t believe his ears.

_Could it be true?_

_Had this man stolen Lady Stark’s maidenhead?_

“Lord Tyrion,” Jon interrupted without realizing what he was doing. “Who is this Littlefinger and what has he to do with all of this?”

“Be silent, Snow,” she replied and Kurleket drew his dirk. “This is none of your business.”

Ser Roderik was quick on his feet and placed himself between the man and Jon Snow.

“No one, shall lay a hand on Jon Snow,” he told the Kurleket. “And I think it is best we calm down and rest. We have a long way ahead of us.”

Jon thought differently. He didn’t want to rest. He wanted answers.

“First, I want an answer to my question,” Jon insisted and searched Lord Tyrion’s and face. “I am only a bastard, but I was an accused as an accomplice. I deserve to know.”

“That is none…,” Lady Stark was about to repeat, but Ser Roderik cut her off.

“Jon speaks true,” Ser Roderik said firmly. “Tell, him what you found out, my Lady.”

Lady Stark sighed and explained unwillingly.

“Petyr Baelish was my father’s ward and loved me. His misplaced passion was a tragedy for us all, but it was real and pure and nothing to be mocked. He wanted my hand. That is the truth of the matter, not the vile lie Lord Tyrion is spreading about Petyr. I have good reason to believe him, Snow.”

Jon remembered, then. Of course, Littlefinger or Petyr Baelish must the boy his Uncle Brandon had nearly killed. He had heard the tale from one of the older guardsmen…

Yet, it made Jon only more suspicious.

“Why trust him?” Jon asked Lady Stark. “Wasn’t he the one who was nearly killed by Uncle Brandon? The man has good reason to hold a grudge against you and Lord Stark. You rejected him, didn’t you?”

Lady Stark shook her head in disbelief. “What would someone like you know about love, Snow?”

“Not much,” Jon admitted angrily. “But I know that I would be pissed if someone stronger humiliated me and took away the women I admire. I ask you again, my Lady. What reason do you have to trust this man’s word?”

“He is a loyal friend,” Lady Stark insisted again. ”And Lord Stark trusted him as well.”

“On your word,” Ser Roderik added in agreement. “On your word, my Lady.”

By now, Lady Stark was starting to squirm like a fish that had been pulled out of the water.

“What nonsense is this?” she asked Ser Roderik. “Are you trying to accuse me of giving false council to my husband?”

“No,” Ser Roderik puffed out. “And I do understand that this man is dear to you, but I have to agree with Jon Snow. Mayhaps it would be better to appeal to the King…Lord Stark never told us to do this…,” he tried to explain, but Lady Stark’s icy glare silenced him at once.

“Are you refusing to obey my order?” she asked, high and strained. “And we are nearly in the Eyrie. It is too late to turn back.”

“So much is true,” Jon agreed and met her gaze. “But it is not too late to stop at a castle and send a raven to King’s Landing. Lord Stark his Hand of the King, surely the King would be prepared to investigate your accusations…,” he tried to explain, but Lady Stark wanted to hear none of it.

“We have come so far,” she insisted stubbornly. “We cannot turn back now.”

“But my Lady…,” Jon was about to protest, but Ser Roderik held him back.

“She is our Lady…,” he said and pulled on Jon’s shoulder, but Jon pushed him away.

His heart was beating wildly as he bared his thoughts without hesitation.

“She is _only_ Lord Stark’s wife,” Jon declared and searched Ser Roderik’s face. “You said yourself that father never gave the order to take Lord Tyrion into custody. Tell me now and tell me true, do you think he would agree with this?”

“You dare!” Lady Stark seethed. “You dare to speak thus, bastard?”

Jon tried his best to ignore her glare, his gaze still fixed on Ser Roderik.

“No,” Ser Roderik said unhappily. “But Lord Stark is _not_ here.”

Jon knew what he truly wanted to say. _You are only a bastard. _

_If you were Lord Stark’s trueborn son I could follow your command._

Lady Stark was about to open her mouth when someone started to shout.

“Riders!”

The shriek came from the ridge above where Lharys had watched the road ahead.

For a long moment, everyone looked around in eerie silence.

Lady Stark was the first one to speak.

“Ser Roderik, Ser Willis,” she shouted at the men. “Get the other mounts behind us…Mohor, guard…,” she began, but Lord Tyrion’s shout cut her off.

“Arm us!” the dwarf demanded, sprang to his feet and grabbed her arm. “You will have need of every sword, my Lady.”

“He is right,” Jon added his voice and saw Lady Stark’s fear.

She knew he was right, but that didn’t mean she liked it.

“I hear them,” Ser Roderik added in an alarmed tone. Jon didn’t even have to turn his head to know that the enemy was close. The thunder of hoofbeats was ringing in his ears and drawing ever closer.

It was all that was needed to snap everyone out of their stupor.

Within the blink of a moment, everyone reaching for weapons and climbing back into their saddles.

A rain of pebbles rained down on them as Lharys sprang forward and slid down the ridge and landed in front of Jon’s feet.

“Twenty men!” he gasped. “Twenty-five…I don’t know…They must have sent eyes out….hidden watchers.”

Jon was already seated on his horse beside Ser Roderik, but still unarmed.

All the while Lord Tyrion was arguing with Lady Stark.

“You have no choice,” he insisted. “One or two men can be the difference between life and death.”

“He is right,” Jon insisted again.

Ser Roderik took notice of his words and waved his hand at Ser Willis. “Give the boy his sword back.”

Lady Stark looked furious, but said nothing to Ser Roderik’s disobedience.

Instead she glared at Lord Tyrion.

“Give me your word that you will put down your weapon when the fighting is done.”

Lord Tyrion grinned while Jon unsheathed his blade. Ghost was already there beside him, his ruby eyes wide and his sharp teeth bared.

“You have my word, my Lady.”_._

_“_Calm yourself, boy,” Jon told the wolf and kicked his feet in the sides of his horse. It felt good to have his sword back.

And Lady Stark was finally prepared to see reason.

“Arm him,” she declared and Bronn the sellsword was quick to hand the dwarf a double-bladed axe.

“I have never fought with an axe,” the dwarf quipped and regarded in the same manner Arya used to look at her dolls.

“It’s like splitting logs,” the Bronn sellsword added and unsheathed his longsword, before trotting off to form up beside Chiggen, Ser Roderik and Jon. Ser Willis soon joined them, fumbling with his helmet, a pot with a thin slit for his eyes and black plume on top of it.

“Logs don’t bleed!” the dwarf complained loudly, before running towards the singer, who was cowering behind a rock.

Jon laughed and felt a rush of excitement and fear coursing true his veins.

It was the feel of battle.

Within the blink of a moment, the riders were upon them.

These men carried no banners, no horns and no drums. Only a handful of arrows announced their arrival, darting over their heads like a flock of birds.

The enemy were dark men in boiled leather and carried a mismatch of stolen weapons: long swords, lances, sharpened scythes, spiked clubs, daggers and heavy iron maul.

They were led by a massive man, who was wearing a striped cloak and armed with a two-handed great sword.

“For Winterfell!” Ser Roderik shouted and spurred his horse forward, ready to face his enemy. Bronn and Chiggen joined him, screaming some wordless battle cry of their own.

Jon remained silent as he rode towards the approaching enemy.

Jon’s first enemy was armed with a scythe and came at him screaming at the top of his lungs. The man had a wild tangle of brown hair and blinking black eyes, but was no good match.

Jon quickly moved his horse around his enemy and bashed his blade in the man’s neck, nearly beheading him.

His next enemy was a woman, which held him back for a moment, but when she tried to thrust her lance into his horse, he lifted his sword and brought it down on the animal’s head. The hoarse shrieked and reared, throwing the rider from its back.

Yet, Jon had not time to rest, as two more enemies came upon him in the blink of a moment. Jon barely managed to parry the taller one’s blow while Ghost buried his teeth deep into the other one’s thigh.

Jon clenched his teeth and bombarded the man with a handful of blows, but he managed to dodge every single.

All the while Ghost was still tearing apart the other man, whose loud screams made Jon’s ears burn.

Puffs of hot air left Jon’s mouth as he danced around his enemy. This time, the man attacked from the left side, nearly catching Jon off guard, but Ghost proved much faster.

The wolf attacked the man from behind, pulling him from the horse.

Jon heard his screams of pain, but wasted no time. He wheeled his horse around and found Lord Tyrion and the singer in peril.

Jon kicked his feet in the sides of his horse and drove it towards the man. He missed the enemy, who had managed to move his horse around Jon’s, catching him in the rear.

Thus, Jon had no other choice but to flee, leaving Tyrion and the weeping singer without protection.

To Jon’s astonishment, Lord Tyrion jumped to his feet and lifted his weapon.

The fool of man must have overseen the dwarf, for the blade caught the charging horse in the throat and sent the horse in frenzy.

Jon wasted no time and came at the enemy from behind, burying his blade deep in the man shoulder.

Hot blood touched Jon’s face as horse and rider crashed to the ground, right atop the weeping singer.

“Someone help me,” the singer wept pitifully. “I am bleeding.”

“That’s horse blood,” Tyrion added almost cheerfully. “Just close your eyes and pretend you are dead.”

Jon wasted no time and went back to battle. One more enemy, came running his way and tried to unleash an arrow on him, but Jon was faster and managed to cut him down.

He was about to give him the killing blow, when he heard Lady Stark’s shriek…

Jon whirled his head around and found her trapped against a rock, three men surrounding her.

One was mounted and the other two on foot, a single dagger clutched between her maimed hands.

Jon whistled at Ghost, who was much faster than any human could ever be. His wolf hurled himself at the men on foot. One screamed and the other was about to lift his axe when Jon came at him from behind.

The third one, he didn’t even have fight, as Lord Tyrion decided come to Lady Stark’s rescue.

Without hesitation the dwarf slashed his weapon in the horse’s head. The animal screamed and reared, hurling the man to the ground where Lady Stark’s dagger made easy work him.

He died quickly, a choking sound leaving his mouth.

“Are you well, my Lady?” he asked Lady Stark as he drew closer, all previous hatred forgotten.

Lady Stark gave him a bewildered look and scrambled back to Ser Roderik’s side.

“Ghost,” Jon said through clenched teeth. “To me!”

When they reached the others, the enemy had been vanquished, but dying horses and wounded men lay everywhere, their moans and screams ringing in the morning air.

Ser Roderik was bleeding from a wound close to his neck, but it could have been so much worse. He could be dead.

Ser Roderik smiled at Jon while Lady Stark was dressing his wound.

“Good to see you alive, my boy.”

“Can you sit your horse?” Jon asked the man, his gaze flickering to Tyrion. He was looting the corpses in company of the two sellswords.

“Aye,” Roderik confirmed. “I am old, but not dead.”

“We should hurry,” Jon told Ser Roderik and looked around warily. Ghost looked just as anxious. “I think there will be more of them.”

Lady Stark shook her head.

“We have to bury the dead,” she stuttered.

“This is no stone for digging, my Lady,” Ser Roderik pointed out. “If we linger, here we will die.”

Lady Stark swallowed hard.

“May the gods forgive us. We must ride at once.”

Jon was glad that they were leaving, but it irked him that she was constantly ignoring him.

“Let the dwarf keep his weapon,” Lady Stark added unhappily after she had climbed back into her saddle. “We might have need of it.”

Lord Tyrion grinned happily.

“You have my thanks, my Lady.”

Then, he turned to Jon.

“You have my thanks as well,” he said. “For helping me back then.”

Jon hadn’t expected that and dipped his head in silent acknowledgement, before leading his horse back to Ser Roderik’s side.

…


	5. Jon

**Jon**

**“**You should have sent word, my Lady,” the knight said as their horses climbed up the steep pass. “We would have sent and escort to meet you along the way. The high road is no safe place for a party as small yours.”

“We have seen so much, Ser Donnel,” Lady Stark replied wearily, her face concealed by the hood of her cloak. She had not spoken much since they had left two more dead men festering in the wilderness.

The sight of Ser Donnel seemed to ease her fear and she smiled even a little as he explained their situation.

“The clansmen attacked us day and night. We lost good men and when we heard your men approaching, I thought we were doomed.”

It was true. They had faced a desperate struggle, but the appearance of Ser Donnel’s party had chased away the barbarians that had tried to murder them in broad daylight.

“The clansmen have crown much bolder since our good Lord perished,” Ser Donnel agreed anxiously. He was a stocky man with a broad nose and a shock of thick brown hair. “If I had any say in the matter, I would take a hundred men into the mountains and teach them a bloody lesson. Sadly, our Lady Arryn even permitted her knights to partake in the Hand’s tourney. She is afraid and wants all her sworn swords at her disposal to guard the Vale against her invisible enemies.”

Jon felt not comforted by this. This was Lady Stark’s sister he would be facing, a woman that had even less reason to love him and the fact that Lady Stark was threating him like thin air didn’t promise a rosy future…

“Don’t fret, good Ser,” Lady Stark added. “Frank talk does not offend me.”

Indeed, but only if it is what you want to hear, Jon thought bitterly and shifted his attention back to the dwarf and their remaining companions: the singer and Ser Willis Wode. Tyrion had grown fond of Bronn and Jon often heard them laughing as if this was some pleasant travel and not the way to their execution.

“When we reach the keep, I want your Maester to take a good look at Ser Roderik’s wounds. They are not bad, but in dire need of treatment.”

“Lady Arryn prefers to keep her Maester close to hear heart,” Ser Donnel explained hesitatingly. “Lord Robert is very sickly... We have a Septon, though. He can take a look at Ser Roderik’s wounds.”

“I think I can manage,” Ser Roderik replied with an apologetic smile. “There is no need to delay our travel.”

Lady Stark gave him a wary look. “Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Ser Roderik nodded and waved his head at the castle looming head.

It was the Bloody Gate. Its parapets were built into the very stone of the mountains on either side of them. There were also twin watchtowers clinging to the rocky slopes and joined by a covered bridge of weathered grey stone that arched above the road.

When they reached the gates, a knight rode out to meet them.

His horse and armor were grey, but his cloak showed the rippling blue-and-red colors of Riverrun, a shiny black fish, wrought in gold and obsidian, pinning his silken folds to his shoulder.

“Who would pass beneath the Bloody Gate?” the man asked in a smoky voice.

“Ser Donnel Waynwood with Lady Catelyn Stark and her companions,” the young knight answered for them.

The knight in front of them lifted his visor and smiled.

He had greyish hair, a weather-worn face and blue eyes like summer.

_The Blackfish_, Jon guessed and felt even more dread. _The Gods help me._

“I thought the lady looked familiar. You are far from home, little Cat.”

“And you, Uncle,” Lady Stark said and graced the man with a warm smile. “You are also far away from home.”

“My home is at my back,” he replied and shrugged his shoulders. “Does Lysa know of your coming?”

Lady Catelyn sighed. “There was no time to send word ahead. We were fleeing from the approaching storm.”

“May we enter, then?” Ser Donnel asked anxiously. “The mountain clans are at our heels.”

The Blackfish nodded his head in understanding.

“Come.”

As they road beneath the shadow of the Blood Gate, the mountains opened up to a wide view of green fields, an endless blue sky and snow-capped mountains.

It was a beautiful sight, but Jon took no pleasure in it. Ghost had left him a day ago, to go hunting.

Jon couldn’t fault him for it. The mountains were no place for a wolf.

“We can reach the mountain by evenfall,” the Blackfish explained. “But the climb will take another day.”

Jon swallowed hard. Climbing up these mountains was not something he was looking forward to.

Ser Roderik seemed to share his feelings on this matter. He looked pale and exhausted. Yet, he smiled at Jon when he noticed his staring.

“It will be a long climb, boy,” he said with a weary smile. “Are you up for it?”

Jon nodded his head and looked back at the Blackfish, who was looking at him with great interest.

“Who is the boy, Cat?” he asked rather bluntly.

It was the first time, since their reunion that she really looked at him.

Jon read guilt and displeasure on her pale face.

“This boy…,” she struggled for the right words.

“Jon Snow,” he ended for her and met the Blackfish’s gaze. “Lord Eddard Stark’s bastard.”

The Blackfish’s eyes widened and he looked back at Lady Stark.

“Why is your husband’s bastard in your company?”

“He was supposed to join the Night’s Watch, but changed his mind. Well, we found him travelling in company of the dwarf, Lord Tyrion Lannister. It is rather complicated. The boy may be involved in a plot against my family.…I shall explain it to you, Uncle.”

Jon clenched his teeth and Ser Roderik shook his head.

“My Lady,” he said in utter disbelief. “I thought it was clear that the boy had nothing to do with all this?”

“That may be true, but he was still riding in company of the dwarf,” Lady Stark replied coldly, her back turned to Jon. “He cannot be trusted.”

Hot anger festered in Jon’s heart like maggots on a rotten corpse.

“I told you before, my Lady,” Jon explained and searched the Blackfish’s gaze. “I did nothing to Bran. And you neglected to mention that Lord Tyrion had travelled with me to the Wall. It was only natural that we took the same direction. I suppose that makes everyone in the Inn at the Crossroad and accomplice of Lord Tyrion.”

Lady Stark turned around and glared at him.

The Blackfish didn’t hesitate to join his voice.

“Be careful what you say, boy. A bastard like you ought to keep his mouth shout or you will find yourself confronted with my sword.”

Jon averted his gaze. Saying something discourteous in return did not serve him now.

“The boy saved Lady Stark’s life,” Ser Roderik told the Blackfish. “He fought bravely and as I said before…I think the boy had nothing to do with all this. Lady Stark…please,” he continued, but Lady Stark cut him off.

“I have heard enough,” she told Ser Roderik, who could do nothing but to accept her command.

On the next day, him, Lady Stark, Lord Tyrion, the Blackfish, Bronn and the singer set out again.

To make the travel easier, they had exchanged their horses for surefooted ponies with shaggy fur.

Jon hated them as he hated everything about this travel. Especially, the smell. Only Ser Roderik’s presence reassured him somewhat.

“So, child,” the Blackfish said in a low voice. “Tell me about this storm of yours. Do I understand this right…You believe this boy and the dwarf did something to your son?”

“I have not been a child for many years,” she replied with a sigh and told the whole tale: about a mysterious letter, Bran’s fall, the assassin’s dagger, this Littlefinger and her encounter with Jon and Tyrion.

Jon had pretended he wasn’t listening, but it was harder than expected. The Imp didn’t seem to care. He was jesting with Bronn, though Jon was sure there was much more to it.

_He is planning something_, he knew and awaited the Blackfish’s response.

“Your father must be told,” the Blackfish said. His voice sounded deep and grave. “If the Lannister’s march to war, the Riverlands will be vulnerable for an attack.”

Even Jon knew that, the green boy he was. What scared him much more was his father’s and sisters’ presence in the capital.

Lord Tyrion mustn’t die, but what could he do. He was just a bastard.

“I agree,” Lady Stark admitted. “And I shall ask Maester Coleman to send a raven to Winterfell when we reach the Eyrie.”

Then, she exhaled deeply and pulled back the hood of her cloak. She looked as if a heavy burden had been lifted from her shoulder.

“What is the mood in the Vale?”

“Angry,” the Blackfish replied. “Lord Jon was loved and most felt insulted when the King made Ser Jaime Warden of the East. Most of all, Lady Lysa…She commanded us to call her son the True Warden of the East, but no one was fooled by that. Truth be told, Lysa is not the only one wondering about at the manner of her husband’s death.”

_Mayhaps Lady Stark will try pinning that death on me as well_, he mused.

“And there is also the boy,” the Blackfish added quietly. “The sad truth is: Jon Arryn’s heir is weak and Lord Nestor Royce has served as High Steward of the Vale in these past fourteen years while Lord Jon served in King’s Landing. Some think that he should rule until the boy comes of age. Others want Lysa to wed again. The suitors are already gathering like the crows…the Eyrie is full of them.”

Jon was not surprised. A child could not rule, especially not a sickly one. Many a man in the Vale must have been both saddened and happy about this chance to rise in position.

“I should have expected so much,” Lady Catelyn confirmed. “Will Lysa take another husband, then?”

“She says so,” the Blackfish replied. “But she has already rejected a dozen suitors. She swears that she will choose her lord husband herself.”

Jon was not surprised about that either. The Lord of the Vale was known to be an honorable man, but that didn’t necessarily make him appealing to a young woman.

“You of all people shouldn’t fault her for that,” Lady Stark chided the Blackfish.

The man snorted. ”I do not fault her, but I think she is lying. Instead of marrying I she intends to rule the Vale until her boy is of age.”

He paused and exhaled deeply. “Truth be told, you should be careful, Cat. I fear you may not find your sister as helpful as you like.”

_Wonderful_, Jon thought. _What comes next? Will Lord Hoster Tully come to join us as well? _

Jon felt sick at that thought and brushed his hand over the pommel of his sword.

Jon decided that he had heard enough and slowed down his horse. He was now riding beside Ser Roderik, who looked as if he was about to fall asleep.

“I do not like this,” Jon whispered to Ser Roderik. “What will happen to me?”

“Nothing,” Ser Roderik assured him. “Lady Stark is just anxious. I will make sure that she sees reason. But you must play along, my boy. Do not anger her unnecessarily.”

Jon exhaled deeply. “I shall.”

“What about Lord Tyrion?” Jon asked. “No one knows what Lord Tywin will do when his son dies? I doubt he will like that.”

“The King wouldn’t allow your father to be harmed,” Ser Roderik assured Jon. “And you ought to distance yourself form the dwarf. He is only a burden to you.”

_And yet he was much kinder to me than Lady Stark_, Jon thought. It was a dangerous thought, but he couldn’t help it.

As Jon pondered his uncertain future, Lady Stark and the Blackfish had stopped, their twin pairs of piercing blue eyes scrutinizing him and Lord Tyrion from afar.

The sun was descending in the west, when the road finally straightened and a landscape of meadows, thick greenwoods and sleepy hamlets greeted them along the way.

Once they had reached the valley floor, the travel was even easier. Eventually, the Blackfish sent out a standard bearer, carrying the blue-and-white banner of House Arryn.

The merchants travelling on the road made place for them when they saw the banner, but even so, the night had already fallen when they reached a stout castle that stood at the foot of the Giant’s Lance. _The Gates of the Moon_, Jon knew from his lessons.

Torches flickered atop the castle’s ramparts and the waxing moon glimmered in the glass windows. The drawbridge was up and the portcullis down, but the lights from the gatehouse told him that they were not alone.

“Lord Nestor Royce should be up,” the Blackfish informed Lady Stark.

Jon ignored them and took in the mountain. At first, all he had been able to see was a sea of trees as black as the starless sky. Now, he could also see distant fires flickering in a tower built upon the steep side of the mountain. Above that stood another tower and another. The highest was pale as marble, like the moon itself.

“The Eyrie,” chirped the singer. He looked like a child, his eyes wide. “The Eyrie!”

Jon only felt dread.

He seen the Wall, but this was much different.

_Stop being such a coward_, he chided himself. _And don’t give Lady Stark the pleasure to see you squirm._

“Truly,” the dwarf added in a bristling tone. “The Arryn’s must hate company. If you want to kill me, I would prefer if you killed me here.”

“We will spend the night here and make the ascent on the morrow,” the Blackfish informed them flashed Lord Lannister a mocking smile.

“I can scarcely wait,” Lord Tyrion quipped. “And how do we get up there?”

“Mules,” the Blackfish explained. “It will be fun to see you squirm, Lannister.”

_And me_, Jon wanted to add, but the Blackfish didn’t even deem him worthy to be insulted.

It felt as if they wished he would just dissolve into thin air.

Jon gritted his teeth and closed his ears to listen to Lady Stark’s brabbling.

Instead he returned to Ser Roderik’s side and inquired about his wound.

“I am well,” Ser Roderik assured him as they rode through the castle gates. “Don’t fret, my boy.”

Six guardsmen with blue cloaks greeted them with burning brands as the Blackfish led them over the moat.

A massive, barrel-chested came to greet them and gave a clumsy bow.

Lady Stark dismounted quickly.

“Lord Nestor,” Lady Stark greeted the man. Jon recalled the name. He must be kin to Yohn Royce. His father had spoken about him more than once. He was a good friend. “We had a tiring journey and ask for your hospitality.”

“Your roofs is yours,” Nestor Royce replied gruffly. “But Lady Lysa wishes to see you at once.”

“What are you saying?” the Blackfish asked. “She wants us to climb the mountain at night?”

“The mules are already on their way,” a girl told them and came to stand beside Nestor Royce. Her dark hair was cropped short and she wore riding leathers and a light shirt of silver ring mail. “I promise you, my Lady. I have made the climb a hundred times, by day and night. Mychel says my father must be a goat.”

Jon didn’t know what he should think of the girl. She was either as capable as she said or a braggard.

She also reminded him a little bit of Arya…

“Do you have a name?” Lady Stark asked the girl..

“Mya Stone, if It pleases you, my Lady,” the girl replied and dipped her head in greeting.

Lady Stark’s smile faded. She looked as if she had smelled something bad.

He immediately warmed up to the girl.

_She is like me. A bastard. A stone._

“Mya is a clever girl and she knows her way. Have trust in her my Lady.”

Lady Stark nodded her head. “Then I put myself in your hands, Mya Stone,” Lady Catelyn said and looked at Ser Roderik.

“You will keep an eye on the boy,” she told him, before angling her head to look at Nestor Royce. “And I must ask of you to make sure that the dwarf makes it up there unharmed. My Uncle assures me there is a way safe way to do that.”

Lord Royce nodded his head and glimpsed at the Lord Tyrion.

Lord Royce nodded his head and glimpsed at the Lord Tyrion. “There is indeed a way, my Lady. The Eyrie clings to the mountain directly above the tower Sky and in its cellars are six great winches with long iron changes to draw up from below. I shall arrange for Lord Tyrion to be pulled up with enough supplies. If he tried to flee he would find a sad ending.”

The dwarf scoffed at that.

“My Lord father would no doubt be most displeased if his son of Lannister went to his fate like a load of potatoes. I wish to ascend by foot. My Lannister pride demands it.”

“Why should I care about your pride?” Lady Stark asked icily. “You will travel as I say. I won’t have you squabbling while we try climbing up that mountain. You might try to run away.”

Lord Tyrion said nothing and exchanged an amused smile with the sellsword Bronn. He and the singer both had announced their intentions to accompany them all the way up.

The mules were already saddled and waiting for them. The girl Mya Stone helped Lady Stark mount while a guardsman with a sky-blue cloak opened he narrow postern gate.

Fear washed over Jon, when he saw the dense forest of pine and spruce and the black mountains looming ahead of them.

“Some people find it easier if they close their eyes,” Mya Stone told them as she led them through the gate into the dark woods. “When they get frightened or dizzy they hold on their mules too tightly. The animals don’t like that.”

Jon eased his grip on the reins and tried to relax.

“I was born a Tully and wed a Stark,” Lady Catelyn informed them. “I am not easily frightened. Do you plan to light a torch?”

The girl made a face.

“Torches blind you, my Lady. On a clear night like this, the moon and the stars are enough. Mychel says I have the eyes of the owl.”

Jon hoped that was true and allowed the animal to carry him. Still, he wished Ghost was here with him.

“You mentioned that boy before,” Lady Catelyn added, probably in an attempt to distract herself.

“Mychel is my love,” the girl explained sweetly. “Mychel Redfort. He is a squire to Ser Lyn Corbray and he promised to wed me when he becomes a knight.”

She sounded so happy and to Jon’s shame he felt jealous of the girl. He had done it with Jeyne, but that had meant nothing to him.

The rest of the ascent was easier than expected and Jon dared to hope. The trees pressed close, leaning over the path to form a green roof that blended out the moonlight. It felt as if they were moving along a black tunnel, but eventually they reached the end, a massive ironbound gate looming before them.

“Stone,” Mya announced cheerfully and dismounted. Iron spikes were set along the tops of formidable stone walls and two fat round towers topped the keep.

The gates swung open at the girl’s shout and a knight offered them charred meat and onions still hot from the spit.

All ate a little bit, besides Jon. He felt only dread.

Instead he helped the stable hands and approached Mya Stone when no one was looking.

“Are you the King’s bastard?”

Mya didn’t look insulted and grinned.

“Aye, his Grace is my father. I have scarcely seen him since I was a young girl, though. And you are?”

“Ned Stark’s bastard,” he informed her. “A Snow.”

The girl seemed unbothered by that and brushed her hand over the animal’s bushy mane.

“I like snow, but it’s not a common sight in summer.”

Jon couldn’t help but to laugh. The girl amused him.

“Then, you must come North. We have snow there even in summer.”

She gave him a disbelieving look as she turned around to attend to Lady Stark.

Soon enough, they were venturing out again.

The second part of the ascent proved even more treacherous. The trail was steeper and the steps littered with broken stones.

Next, they reached Snow. It consisted of a single fortified tower, a timber keep and a stable hidden behind a low wall of rock.

The commander was an anxious knight with a pockmarked face, who offered them bread and cheese and a warm fire.

Above castle Snow, the wind was a living thing, first as loud as Ghost’s howls, before it dissolved into silence.

Right there, Lady Stark stopped. Fear must have greeted her heart. 

Only Mya Stone’s soft prodding took away her fear and led them up the rest of the away to Sky, which was no more than a high, crescent-shaped wall of stone raised against the side of the mountain, its weathered stones rimed with frost.

The sun was rising in the east when the gates opened before them . Inside these walls there was only a series of ramps and a great tumble of boulders and stones of all sizes.

“The stables and barracks are in here,” Mya Stone explained. “The last part is inside the mountain. It can be a little dark, but at least there is no wind. It is more like a stone ladder than proper steps, but it’s not too bad.”

The sun stood high in the sky, when they finally reached the bloody Eyrie, where they were greeted by a stocky, silver-haired man.

He smiled politely as he helped Lady Stark from the basket, in which they had been pulled up the rest of the path.

The man introduced himself as Ser Vardis Egen, the Captain of the Guards.

Beside him stood a young Maester. He was a thin and nervous man, with too little hair and too much neck.

“It is a pleasure to have you here, Lady Stark,” the knight said and lowered his head.

The Maester bobbed his head in agreement. “It is an honor, my Lady. I have already sent word to Lady Arryn. She left orders to be awakened the instant you arrive.”

“I hope she had a good night’s rest,” Lady Stark replied, her voice laced with bitterness.

Then, she looked at Ser Roderik and right through Jon.

“Keep an eye on the boy, Ser Roderik,” she instructed and left them.

Ser Roderik and Jon took a seat beside the hearth, where they received a cup of mulled wine.

Jon poured down the cup and watched as Bronn and the singer disappeared into an anteroom.

“What will happen now?” he asked Ser Roderik.

The old knight shrugged his shoulders.

“I do not know, but I fear Lady Stark won’t let go of this…you must be careful, my boy. I am just glad she did not lock you away.”

Jon rubbed his hands over flickering flames.

“Do you want me to kiss her hand for it?” he asked, unable to hide his bitterness.

Ser Roderik flashed him a warning look.

“I understand your anger, but you should have told your father about your plans.”

“And then?” Jon asked hotly. “You think he would have let me go?”

Ser Roderik grabbed his shoulder and forced him to look at him.

“I don’t know what has gotten into, but Lord Stark would have made sure to find you a place if you voiced your wish to be a squire. I am sure of it.”

“Well, he never even bothered to ask me,” Jon couldn’t help but to snap back. He had not forgotten Lady Stark’s words. “It seems a bastard like me only belongs to the Wall. Out of sight and out of mind, as they say.”

Ser Roderik backed away and dropped his hand.

“I never knew that there was so much hatred in you,” he said, in obvious shock.

“Why does that surprise you?” Jon asked, all anger and frustration spilling forth at once. “My father wouldn’t even tell me my mother’s name! He must be ashamed of me! I am not surprised that he agreed to send me to the Wall!”

When he felt tears burning in his eyes he wanted to flee, but Roderik grabbed his shoulder again.

“Listen to you, my boy,” Ser Roderik said and searched Jon’s face. “I do not care that you are a bastard nor do I know the reason why Lord Stark withheld your mother’s name from you, but I know this: He would be very cross with Lady Stark if she dared to harm you. Whatever she wants to do…she would never kill you.”

“And is that supposed to comfort me?” Jon asked and realized in that moment what Ser Roderik was really trying to say. “I see…You think I should go back to the Night’s Watch.”

Jon didn’t know how he managed to free himself from Ser Roderik’s tight grip.

“I won’t ever go back there!” he snarled and sat down before the hearth, his back turned to Ser Roderik. He didn’t want to see him. He wanted to be alone. “I won’t give her that satisfaction!”

…


	6. The Spider

**The Spider**

The flickering flames made the shadows dance. A soft breeze of air touch his skin and the smell of shit and piss entered his nose. Fourteen years ago, he had carried a mewling babe out of these sewers and had handed him to one of his ship hands.

Said babe had been Princess Elia Martell’s son, a silver-haired babe of a fragile health that had luckily survived the long travel to Pentos where he had been raised as the son of Illyrio Mopatis. That was until Varys had sent him to be educated by Jon Connington and a handful of trusted people.

This had not always been their plan. Shortly, before the Tourney of Harrenhall his sister Serra had carried a babe. Sadly, his sister and the babe had perished a moon later in childbirth.

It had been a hard blow for Varys’ grand plans, but he wouldn’t be the Spider if he hadn’t been able to spin a new thread. No, in the end he had swallowed his grief and had continued to further his plan.

Said plan he had started to spin long before the Defiance of Duskendale and had one goal only: to take revenge against the Targaryen dynasty.

And that had been hard to do. Aerys had been a foolish man, driven by pride and quick-to anger, but also susceptible to flattery. His first act been to make use of the King’s brewing enmity with his Hand, Lord Tywin Lannister. It had been all too easy to convince the King of his Hand’s hidden ambitions, which had resulted in the most foolish of decisions in King Aerys’ reign: the betrothal between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia Martell.

It had not only prevented a match between the Lannisters and House Targaryen, but had helped to further weaken the Targaryen dynasty. The Martells were an old family and nobody could deny their valor in battle, but their military prowess was among the weakest in the realm. With this match the King had made it almost impossible for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen to rid himself of his father. That the unfortunate woman had been on the sickly side had been another reason Varys had encouraged the King to agree to this match, who had been unaware of this fact until the Princess had nearly perished in birthing her eldest child, Princess Rhaenys.

Many had doubted that she would be able to birth a son and the King most of all had taken a great dislike for the Dornish, which had only increased after Harrenhall. Well, the Prince hadn’t been taken with the Princess either, for he had crowned the Stark girl as his Queen and Love and Beauty. To this day, Varys had been confused by the Prince’s actions. Was it only an act of an infatuated man or had there been a calculated motive behind his actions? Long before the Tourney of Harrenhall, there had been rumors circulating that Lord Rickard Stark, Lord Hoster Tully, Lord Jon Arryn were trying to forge an allegiance to put Robert Baratheon on the throne, a rumor that wasn’t without merit. The Northmen had always been content to marry among each other and had rarely pursued southron matches. It was only speculation on Varys’ part, put perhaps the Prince had intended to set aside his wife in favor of the Lady Lyanna, a match that would have not only brought him the allegiance of the North, but also the Riverlands and perhaps even the Vale, depending on how angered Jon Arryn would have been by seeing his foster-son humiliated. The Faith would have certainly protested such a decision, but what the Faith said and did were two different things…

Not that it mattered now. Prince Rhaegar was dead and so was the unfortunate Princess, who had begged Varys to carry both her son and daughter to safety. He couldn’t deny that he had enjoyed hearing her beg, for to him she had just been another woman of privilege, born into soft featherbeds and never forced to work for her daily bread. Oh, how he detested these high lords and ladies with their silken litters and proud smiles. Varys would wipe them from the face of this world if he could, but sadly the world had need of them just as much as it had need of merchants and beggars. Yet, that didn’t mean Varys didn’t dream of a better world, a world in which a King served his people instead of himself.

His sister’s son had been meant to be this King, but he had perished before he had taken his first breath and thus Varys had been forced to rely on Prince Rhaegar’s blood, a notion he still detested at times.

_It is the only way_, he reminded himself as he descended down the whirling stone steps, towards the arranged meeting place.

It had been two long years that he had last laid eyes on his old friend Illyrio, but when he saw the gilded belt glittering around his massive girth he knew that nothing had changed.

In his youth, Illyrio had been a strapping young man, but now he looked like seacow.

His sister would be appalled.

Even so, he greeted Varys with a warm smile.

“You look well, Varys.”

“And you as well,” Varys replied and stepped closer. Illyrio’s beard glittered like beaten gold. “Though the reason we are forced to meet here are less pleasant. I heard the boy has acted against our plans?”

“Indeed,” Illyrio confirmed and stroked his beard. Varys could read displeasure on his face, but also a certain amount of pride. For some reason, he had taken some sort of liking to the boy during the six years he had resided in his mansion. Perhaps it was because Illyrio was much more of a sentimental man that Varys or perhaps it was only because Illyrio had never managed to produce a living son of his own blood, but Varys couldn’t bring himself to share his feelings regarding the boy. He was a Targaryen through and through, but the only thing Varys had left. “The boy must have somehow heard about our plans to have the Princess wed to the Khal.”

“And Connington didn’t stop him?” Varys asked and gritted his teeth. “And I thought the man could be trusted.”

“I warned you, old friend,” Illyrio added softly. “Connington only ever served House Targaryen. He holds little love for us. Well, what is done is done. The boy called off the wedding with the Khal and wed her himself. There is no way we can protest against the boy’s actions or we will lose his trust altogether.”

“So much is true,” Varys was forced to agree rather unwillingly. His plans had been set in stone for years. Daenerys Targaryen would be wed to the Khal and Prince Viserys would perish in the Dothraki Sea. Then, once the Dothraki have invaded Westeros, Prince Aegon would have joined and freed the Princess from her ill-suited husband. Any children of their union would have course been disposed of and the Princess would have been free to birth heirs for Aegon. Now, there would be no Dothraki invasion to pave their way and they would have to relay on the Golden Company…and Dorne, stubborn folk Varys didn’t really want to depend on. “Well, I suppose it will be best if I place this new piece of information in the hands of the Small Council…’to stir the flames’ as they like to say.”

Illyrio chuckled and nodded his head in agreement.

“That should be enough to bring the Dornish to our side and to destabilize the Stag’s reign, though your letters tell me that he has accomplished this very well without our help.”

“The Stag King is satisfied to roll from whore to whore,” Varys added with amusement. “It’s the lions wo make a mess out of everything. Stark is also close in discovering Jon Arryn’s findings.”

“What will he do I wonder?” Illyrio asked curiously.

“The man is driven by a fool’s honor…I am sure it will compel him to act and that will most certainly mean war,” Varys laid it out for Illyrio. “Especially, after the Imp supposedly tried to murder his second son.”

“Truly?” Illyrio asked. “Are sure these are not just embellishments?”

“No embellishments,” Varys confirmed. “I heard it this very morning from my little birds. Stark’s wife took Tyrion Lannister and Stark’s bastard in her custody, accusing them of trying to murder her son. Nobody has heard of it yet, but soon the entire realm will know and then this war might start sooner than we have anticipated. You might not believe it, old friend, but this Jaime Lannister has a queer love for his brother.”

“Indeed,” Illyrio agreed and laughed. “A proud man like Tywin Lannister won’t accept such a humiliation. It seems the wolves will soon be at the throat of the lions, and knowing the Stag King’s love for the wolves he will side with them.”

“We will see about, old friend, ” Varys said and lifted his torch higher. The heat was making sweat roll down his cheeks. “But important is that the Golden Company is ready to sail when the time comes.”

“On this you have my word,” Illyrio promised and offered his hand to Varys. “But there is always a chance that Strickland will see through our mummery. They believe we are going to put a Blackfyre on the throne when in truth we are planning to place Rhaegar Targaryen’s son on the throne. Truly, it is a queer mummery we are planning, old friend.”

Varys sighed. “My sister’s son wouldn’t have proven so difficult. Tell, the boy that he must be patient, for any wrong move might endanger his sister’s life. That should keep him calm.”

“I shall,” Illyrio promised and squeezed Varys hand one last time, before he disappeared in the darkness of the tunnels that had been built by Maegor the Cruel. “I shall.”

Varys felt relieved, but smelled as if he had crawled through the sewers. He asked for a hot bath and had one of his servant boys wash the smell from his body. Then, he donned fresh robes and allowed his man servant to powder his cheeks and sprinkle heavy perfume all over his body. The others at court might not care about their smell, but Varys did. It was his only way to differentiate himself from these fools.

…

“Lies! Lies!” the King’s voice roared through the chamber of the Small Council. His cheeks were deeply flushed as he slammed his hand on the table, making the wooden table squeak. “I saw the dragonspawn’s squashed head with my own eyes and the Dornish whore’s midwife confirmed that it was _him_! It has to be _a mistake_!”

Then, he smashed his hand once more on the table, making the world tremble.

Others would have trembled in fear, but Varys felt only pity for the foolish man in front of him. He was like a wild bull without reason and understanding of the position he was in.

Robert Baratheon had been a promising King, quick to forgive and a good warrior, but both virtues were overshadowed by his quick temper, blind pride and lust for women and festivities.

“It seemed this midwife lied to us, your Grace,” Varys replied softly and folded his hands in front of him. “People tend to do that at times, but there is no doubt about it. A boy that claims to be Aegon Targaryen has wed Princess Daenerys. Whether he is really Prince Rhaegar’s son, even Ser Jorah couldn’t tell, but that won’t matter to the realm. It is still crawling with Targaryen loyalists. The Dornish might raise their spears for him and others will most likely follow…that is if he manages to gather an army to invade. Only time will tell…,” Varys was about to continue, but the King’s roaring organ silenced him.

“Time! Time!” the Stag King snarled, spittle touching Varys’ cheek. “You think we have time? This Pretender and the rest of the Targaryen ilk must die! Better today than on the morrow!”

_A wise idea_, Varys would have agreed if this man’s kingship was of any worth to him. _But the boy and his kin will be long gone, before your swords come for them. Illyrio is well aware of Jorah. He won’t try anything stupid without my outright command._

“You can’t be serious, Robert,” Ned Stark added suddenly, his grip tight on the table in front of him, turning his knuckles white. There had always been something overly serious about the Lord of the North, but now he looked furious. _Very interesting._ “Isn’t it bad enough that the boy’s mother perished in such a disgraceful manner? The boy is most likely a Pretender and as long as you have Princess Rhaenys the Dornish will not dare to support him.”

Varys was not surprised to hear such words from Ned Stark’s mouth. Varys had been right there when Jon Arryn had kept the King from bloodying Ned Stark’s nose, after speak him up on the matter of the “dragonspaw”.

Now, King Robert carried a strikingly similar expression.

“Have you lost your mind, Ned?” the King growled. “Have you forgotten what the Mad King did to your father and brother…and what Rhaegar Targaryen did to your sister?”

“I have not forgotten,” Ned Stark replied firmly. “But the Mad King is dead. I have no quarrel with his children nor with Prince Rhaegar’s. I won’t stand for this.”

Then, he shifted his attention to the other men assembled around the table.

“Are you so afraid of a boy…a mere pretender?”

Renly Baratheon was the first one to speak. He chuckled as he leaned over the table.

“This boy is a man grown and as Lord Varys rightly said…Dorne might raise their spears for a male heir of House Targaryen and there might be others who would be prepared to do the same. My brother’s reign is not as safe as you believe.”

“Fourteen years,” Ned Stark argued and searched the younger man’s gaze. “Fourteen years and nothing has happened. Your brother has the loyalty of the North, the Riverlands and Vale. We defeated them before and there is no reason why we can’t do it again. You are like little children…afraid of a shadow.”

“A shadow that calls himself Aegon Targaryen!” the King snarled angrily. “There have been rebellion for lesser reasons! The boy needs to die!”

“Jon would not agree, Robert,” Lord Stark countered quickly and clenched his teeth. “You know it.”

“Jon is dead and gone,” the King threw back. “And you are my Hand now. I expect you to stand with me, not hinder my reign.”

“I am giving you the truth you do not wish to see,” Ned Stark retorted, his body trembling from head to toe. “You are fearing a shadow, I say.”

Then, Ned Stark lifted his head to look at Varys. “Tell me, Spider…Does this boy even have an army to speak of?”

_One of the best_, Varys knew. _The Golden Company._

But he couldn’t tell that Ned Stark.

“No,” Varys lied and smiled sweetly. “No army to speak of so far, but I am sure we will know more in the future, Lord Hand.”

“I won’t allow that,” the King snapped again. “I won’t have it. All of the dragonspawn _must_ die!”

“Which poses the question: Who will have the honor? Ser Jorah? Assassins?” Renly asked and looked over at Ser Barristan.

The old man hadn’t said a single thing since Varys had revealed existence of Prince Aegon.

“Ser Jorah is only one man,” Grand Maester Pycelle pointed out. He had been half asleep until the King’s loud roar had woken him from his slumber. “I think hiring an assassin would be the right path.”

“Tis is the handiwork of snakes!” Lord Stark hissed angrily and searched the King’s face once more, as if he hoped his stubborn protests help. “I know you don’t care to hear it, but let me say this Robert: It is one thing to kill your enemy on the battlefield and another thing to murder children by assassination. By doing this you wouldn’t prove any better than the Mad King!”

Silence reigned, but the King’s reaction was as vitriolic as expected. In a sudden movement, the King pulled his crown from his head and flung it right over the table.

Varys and the others winced when the golden circlet landed on the ground with a clinking sound.

“Have you forgotten who gave me _this _crown?” the King demanded to know. “You and Jon! You and Jon made me take the bloody crown! And now you won’t even help me defend it, Stark! What am I to make of this?”

Ned Stark’s face looked as if all blood had been drained out of his trembling body. It looked as if he had just been overcome by a terrible realization.

Varys was intrigued.

This was a man who had lost both his father and brother to the Mad King’s cruelty and yet he was defending his blood. At first, Varys had believed it had only to do with his stringent belief in honor, but there was more to it…

_I smell something rotten_, Varys mused.

“I want peace,” Ned Stark declared sadly and curled his fingers around the silver pin holding his silken cloak together. “But not by slaying innocent children that were driven into exile by the foolishness of their elders. You claim to be King and you are allowing yourself to be controlled by your fears. Go down that bloody path and you will lose everything!”

“Sweet words, Lord Stark,” added Littlfinger, who had listened to their exchange with an unreadable smile. “But that won’t protect our King from his enemies. Jon Arryn was an honorable man, but he would have killed the Targaryen if it meant to secure our King’s crown. Do not be fooled, Lord Stark. He always knew his duty well.”

Ned Stark’s grey eyes narrowed in displeasure as his grip tightened on the pin. “I suppose I didn’t know Jon Arryn as well as I thought…,” he puffed out and looked over to the King, who was grouching over the long table, his fingers digging deep into the wood. “Just like you, old friend. I thought I knew you, but I did not. I came to help you, but ever since you came to my halls misfortune has befallen my family. My son was crippled, my daughter was nearly butchered by your son and I was forced to murder a direwolf to please your Queen. Call me a fool if you want, but I won’t be your butcher.”

With these sharp words Ned Stark had flung the pin that represented his station at his King and had stormed out of the council chamber, the King’s angry shouts following after him.

“You damn fool! Go and run back to Winterfell! Go back to your frozen halls, but do not think that I will forget this slight! No one walks away from me! No one!”

… 


	7. Ned

Littlefinger’s loud chatter made his head swim. After his quarrel with the King he had wanted to leave at once, but then Littlefinger had appeared and had promised him answers to his many questions. And answers he had gotten, many of them confusing.

These questions had also led him here, into a brothel. The owner of said brothel was an elegant woman clad in a feathered gown, but she had a horde of even more beautiful girls to offer to her customers. Ned was just glad that the girls left him be and were focusing their attentions on his guardsmen. There was Heward, who was currently playing a game of cards with a wench that had hair as waxen as a field of wheat. By now, he had lost his belt, his cloak and his boots. All the while, Jory Cassle was observing everything from the position next to his open window.

When Littlefinger finally placed a kiss on the woman’s hand and took his leave, Jory hopped to his feet and flashed Ned a quick smile.

“I shall help Wyl with the horses,” he announced while Heward was gathering his things.

“I am glad to be done with this business,” Ned grumbled when they stepped outside.

“Your business,” Littlefinger chuckled. “Or is it Robert’s? We have a saying here in King’s Landing, my Lord Hand. They say the Hand speaks with the King’s voice and rules with the King’s sword. Does that mean he also fucks with the King’s…,” he was about to continue, but Ned silenced him with a sharp look.

“My Lord Baelish,” Ned said in a bristling tone. “And I am grateful for your help, but that does not mean I enjoy your constant mockery. I am also no longer the King’s Hand.”

Littlefinger’s lips curled upwards and he followed Ned out to the street, where a soft drizzle was being unleashed unto the world. Ned drew up the hood of his cloak, Jory brought out his horse and Heward scrambled out of the brothel, playing with the lacings of his trousers and the soft giggling of a girl echoing after him.

“Are we going to return to the castle, my Lord?” Jory asked as Littlefinger climbed on his horse.

“Aye,” Ned confirmed and spurred on his horse. “We are to return to the castle.”

“Chataya has a fine establishment,” Littlefinger added cheekily. “I think I might buy it…,” he continued and explained his plans for his next house of sin. Ned couldn’t care less and allowed him to babble as they rode down the dark and deserted street.

It seemed the soft drizzle had been enough to drive the people back to their homes. The drumming sound upon rooftops echoed in Ned’s ears, his heart overflowing with guilt he had long banished away.

_Robert will never keep to one bed_, Lyanna had told him once, so many years ago after their father had promised her hand to Robert Baratheon. _I heard he has already fathered a girl in the Vale._

Ned hadn’t been able to deny the truth, but even so, he had assured her that Robert would change and love her.

Even now, he recalled her sad smile. _Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man’s nature._

What Ned had seen today confirmed Lyanna’s words. It was painful to admit, but it was true. When he had laid eyes on the young whore, he hadn’t dared to ask for her age. She must have been a virgin whore, kept warm from the King’s bed. The thought disgusted Ned more than he could say.

_I named her Barra_, the girl had informed him with a smile as sweet as honey. _My babe looks like him, doesn’t she? She has his nose and hair_…

That had been true as well. The babe on her breast had been undeniably of Baratheon blood with dark hair and blue eyes like summer.

_Tell him_, the girl had asked of Ned in a soft and pleading voice. _Tell him how beautiful she is._

_I shall_, Ned had promised, like he had promised Lyanna, a promise he had kept all these years. Jon Snow’s face appeared before his eyes: a long face, framed by soft brown hair like Lyanna’s had been and dark eyes…those dark eyes that had belonged to the Dragon Prince.

It were these eyes that had forced Ned to hide the boy from the world…

_You would kill me if you knew what I did_, _sister,_ he knew and shuddered as guilt, as sharp as a Valyrian blade, pierced his heart. _You would ask me what you told me before your betrothal…You love him more than me, don’t you?_

_I did…no longer_, Ned thought. It was true, he had loved Robert Baratheon like a brother, but the man he had become disgusted him. He was not more a King than Aerys had been, albeit not as cruel. He was a child playing with the coffers of the realm and wanted to waste it on assassins, feasts and whores.

_Assassins to slay innocent children…_

At times, he still recalled the squashed head of Aegon Targaryen. The boy’s death had nearly torn his and Robert’s friendship asunder, but Lyanna’s death had brought them back to together.

_It was all a lie._

_Our friendship…the boy’s death. Could it be that he survived?_

_It is possible_, Ned thought. _Jon survived._ _Why shouldn’t the boy? Perhaps the Princess Elia had been cunning enough to exchange her babe for another._

That thought made his blood freeze, for it gave him a choice he didn’t want to make.

“You seem very upset, Lord Stark,” Littlefinger remarked and smiled again. “What is on your mind?”

Ned didn’t want to talk to the man, but he had no other choice.

“What do you know of these bastards?”

“Well, the King certainly has more of them than you. So much is true…Ten…twenty. I have long stopped counting,” he quipped.

“I think I understand.”

“To be exact. There is a girl in the Vale and a boy at Storm’s End. The mother was a Florent, niece to the Lady Selyse. Renly says the King fucked her in Stannis’ marriage bed and thus the boy ended up in Renly’s care. Stannis’ sour-faced wife would have most likely killed him. I also recall a pair of twins the King fathered on one Lord Tywin’s serving wenches. A pair of black-haired beauties. They say the Queen didn’t like their existence and had them smothered in their cribs. There is also the boy in the forge and several more. I am sure of it…there are at least twenty and by the time the King has grown old and brittle, there will most likely be a hundred of the King’s bastard running about in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Ned clenched is teeth. “But why would Jon Arryn take interest in these baseborn bastards? Was it just compassion?”

“He was the King’s Hand,” Littlefinger replied and shrugged his shoulders. “He was tasked to care for them.”

“But why kill him for it?”

Littlefinger chuckled. “Well, perhaps Jon Arryn thought the King filled too many whores with babes.”

Ned remained silent. He knew the man beside him held nothing but scorn for him and would be of no further help to him.  
  


The rain was growing stronger now, burning in his ears and blurring his view.

He brushed his hand over his eyes and when he opened them again, he saw leather, gauntlets and steel helmets with golden lions and crests coming into view. Their wet, crimson cloaks clung to their backs and looked nearly black.

Ned had no time to count them as Jory freed his blade and shouted at the men blocking the road.

“Make away or die! This is the Hand of the King!”

“It seems the wolves are howling!” the leader mocked. “But you are such a small pack.”

“What is the meaning of this?” Littlefinger asked. “This is the Hand of the King you are threatening.”

“This man _was_ the Hand of the King,” a man added icily. It was Ser Jaime Lannister, seated on a white stallion. “Tell me, Lord Stark, what are you now?”  
  
“This is foolish,” Littlefinger added with a hint of amusement. “You are dooming yourself.”  
  
“What do you want?” Ned asked coldly and freed his blade.

Ser Jaime grinned wickedly. “My brother. You remember him, don’t you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell.”

“I remember him,” Ned replied, not quite understanding what the man in front of him was trying to say. “What should I know of him?”

Ser Jaime frowned. “Stop playing dumb. Your wife assaulted him on the road to King’s Landing and took him as a hostage. They also say she took your bastard.”

Ned thought he misheard, but why would Ser Jaime speak about Jon? He had never met him.

“You must be jesting with me, Ser Jaime,” Ned replied in disbelief. “Jon went to the Wall.”

Ser Jaime scoffed. “Well, it seems the boy changed his mind and decided to travel with my brother. Tyrion has this effect on people and I cannot even fault the boy. No sane man would join the Night’s Watch, an order full of rapists and thieves.”

Ser Jaime grinned. “Oh, I recall…your younger brother joined, didn’t he?”

_He is just trying to provoke me_, Ned reminded himself.

“I don’t believe you, Ser,” he replied calmly. “My wife is back on her way to Winterfell and Jon is at the Wall.”

As he had said this, Ned urged his horse forward. Ser Jaime did the same, showing him his bare steel.

“Show me your steel, Lord Stark!” he snapped. “I will butcher you like the Mad King if I must, but I would prefer if you die with a blade in your hand. That would be more honorable, wouldn’t it?”

Littlefinger was already on retreat.

“I shall bring help,” he promised to Ned and disappeared into the darkness.

The Lannister men hadn’t stopped him, but why would they. He was a viper like them.

Fear filled Ned’s heart when he regarded the men in front of him. They had twenty swords and he had only three.

He looked around. He saw shifting shadows behind the windows, but nobody would come to their rescue, so much Ned could tell.

This encounter would most likely end in a terrible butchery.

“Kill me,” Ned played along with the Kingslayer’s mummery. “Kill me and Cat will kill brother.”

Ser Jaime’s dark eyes glinted with anger as he poked Ned’s chest with his golden sword. “Would she, now? Well, I shouldn’t be surprised. She took your bastard, didn’t she? I wonder what she is going to do with him? Cut off his head?”

_No_, Ned was sure. _Cat might hold no love for the boy, but she wouldn’t do something like that. And Jon…he would never lie to me…The Kingslayer must be lying._

“Keep your lies to yourself!” Ned replied. “And lower your blade.”

Ser Jaime shook his head and grinned. “I suppose I ought to run back to the King and tell him how frightened I am. I doubt he will care.”

Then, sheathed his sword and threw a quick glance at his Captain. “Make sure that Ned Stark remains unharmed, but kill his men. This will be a lesson to him.”

“No!” Ned shouted and he grabbed for his sword. “No!”

Soon, he was cutting down phantoms with crimson cloaks and Jory Cassle charged forward, trampling down one man as he went.

Wyl was less lucky. He was being dragged from his dying horse, swords clashing in the drizzling rain.

In panic, Ned spurred his horse towards the Captain and slashed his sword against the man’s head. The man stumbled to his knees, blood running down his face while Heward was hacking at the hands that were trying to seize the bridle of his horse. In that moment, a spear had caught him in the belly, red rain meeting Ned’s face.

“No!” Ned shouted. “Jory!”

In that moment, Ned’s horse slipped beneath his feet and crashed down into the mud, a blinding pain rushing through his leg.

Helplessly, he was forced to watch as they cut down Jory’s mount and dragged him from his horse, swords rising and falling around him like an executioner’s blade. Ned tried to pull himself up, but landed on his belly, choking on a scream.

Dizzy, he took a glimpse at his broken leg. It was a grizzly sight.

It was the last thing he saw before he slipped off into darkness.

…

It was an old dream that came to him in the darkness.

He dreamed of three knights in snow white cloaks, a tower long fallen and Lynna in her bed of blood.

His companions were riding with him: Martyn Cassle, Jory’s father, Theon Wull, Ethan Glover, Mark Ryswell, Howland Reed, Lord Dustin.

All of them had died for Lyanna’s folly. No, that was no right. They had also died for Ned’s folly, who had believed his sister would simply accept their father’s command.

He had tried to better himself with Arya, who was Lyanna’s ghost…

Lyanna’s face suddenly danced before his eyes, melting into Jon’s. Both of them were watching him, accusing him.

_Why did you lie? Why? Why?_

Ned brushed these memories away and for a brief moment he saw only blackness.

Then, he found himself back in his old nightmare.

They were seven facing against three.

Yet, these tree men in white cloaks were no ordinary men. There was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, a sad smile playing on his lips. Ser Oswell Whent was beside him, sharpening his blade. And between them stood Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard.

“I looked for you on the Trident,” Ned heard himself say.

“We were not there,” Ser Gerold grumbled.

“Woe to the Usurper if we had been!” Ser Oswell snarled , his black eyes piercing into Ned’s.

“When King’s Landing fell, Ser Jaime slew your King…I wondered where you were.”

“Far away,” Ser Gerold scoffed. “Or Aerys would yet sit the Iron Throne and our false brother would burn in the Seven Hells.”

“I came to Storm’s End to lift the siege,” Ned informed them and tried his best to ignore their hostility. What he had truly felt in that moment he had long forgotten. Had it been anger or fear? He couldn’t say. “And the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne dipped their banners and bent their knees to us.”

“Our knees do not bend easily, my Lord,” Ser Arthur replied solemnly.

“Ser William Darry fled to Dragonstone with your Queen and Prince Viserys,” he offered a way out. He would have let them go if they had just handed over his sister. “I thought you might have sailed with them.”

“Ser William is a good man and true,” Ser Oswell added coldly.

“But not of the Kingsguard,” Ser Gerold quipped back. ”The Kingsguard does not flee.”

_Ser Barristan did_, Ned recalled. _He saw reason and lived. You could have lived too._

Fresh guiled washed over him in that moment. He had slain these good men for his sister…and Robert.

A lie…a lie…a bloody lie.

“Then or now,” Ser Arthur added with certain amount of finality. Then, he unsheathed _Dawn_ and lifted the blade to the dying sun. “And now it begins.”  
  
"No,” Ned recalled. “Now it ends.”

They came together in a rush of steel, Lyanna’s screams ringing in his ears as they fought.

She was calling his name and the smell of blood and roses filled his nose.

_Promise me_, she had begged of him. _Protect my child._

_I promise me_, he had whispered. _I promise._

“Lord Stark,” a man’s voice echoed in his ears. “Lord Stark.”

Dizzy as he felt, Ned had a hard time to focus on what is in front of him. Moonlight met his eyes, but a shadowy figure drove away the light.

It was Vayon Poole.

“Lord Stark,” repeated the shadow and Ned turned his head to the side.

“How long?” he asked and felt his splintered leg all the way to his toes. It was a dull and piercing pain that made him clench his teeth. “How long?”

“Seven nights,” Vayon Poole returned and held a gilded cup to his lips. It was plain water, but Ned drank greedily. “The King left orders. He would like to speak with you at once, my Lord.”

“On the morrow,” Ned replied weakly. “When I have regained some of my strength.”

“The King commanded to send you to him the moment you open your eyes,” his steward explained softly.

Ned knew there was no way to ignore this command. Robert was an impatient man.

“Then, tell him to come here. I can scarcely sit….And summon the captain of my guard.”

Alyn came quickly and dipped his head.

“My lord.”

“How do things stand?” he asked, fear washing over him. He needed to know the truth. “Is it true? Did Catelyn abduct the dwarf and Jon Snow?”

“I fear the tale about the Imp’s abduction has spread throughout the realm, my Lord. Jon Snow was also mentioned, but only in passing. I fear it is true.”

Ned felt as if all air had been drained out of his body, his mind a storm of confusion.

He had always known that Cat disliked the boy, but he had done naught against it. He had thought it better that way. He had feared her reaction too much.

Now, she had acted upon her feelings, perhaps driven to it by Jon’s presence in the dwarf’s company.

_The boy was too young_, he knew then. _I should have never given in to Cat’s wishes._

He rubbed his head with the back of his hand to drive away his headache.

“What about the Kingslayer?” Ned asked. “Where is he?”

“He fled the city. He has most likely ridden to Casterly Rock to join his father.”

Ned had expected so much. A coward through and through.

“And my daughters?”

“They are well,” Alyn replied. “They have been with you very day. Sansa is always praying, but Arya has not spoken a single word since they brought you back. She was very angry.”

Ned puffed out a lungful of air and dropped his hand.

“Whatever happens,” he told the man. “They must be kept safe. I fear this is only the beginning of a terrible struggle.”

“Jory and the others…,” Ned muttered and thought of Jon Snow. A fear unlike anything he had ever felt washed over him. He loved Cat, but he had loved Robert too…He had never thought him capable of the things he had done…

_Have I misjudged Cat? Have I asked too much of her?_

“I gave their bodies to the Silent Sisters,” Alyn explained. Strangely, Ned had to think of the Kingsguard, Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar. The Prince had called the place the Tower of Joy, but for Ned the place meant nothing but bitterness…

_Is that way I dreamed of you, sister? Are you cursing me from your grave? Or was it to remind me of my vow to you?_

In the moment Vayon Poole entered the room, his face filled with displeasure.

“His Grace and the Queen are here to see you.”  
  
Ned gritted his teeth as he sat up and watched Robert and his Queen attend to his sickbed.

Robert wore a black doublet with the crowned Stag emblazoned on his chest. A flagon of wine was in his hand, like so often these days.

Cersei wore a dream of crimson, her jeweled tiara glimmering in the moonlight.

“Your Grace,” Ned greeted. “I beg your pardon. I cannot rise.”

“Don’t bother,” Robert grumbled and offered him the cup of wine. “Some wine for your pain?”

Ned shook his head. “I had enough of the milk of the poppy.”

“You ought to be glad that my brother didn’t kill you,” the Queen hissed like a snake.

“Quiet,” the King grumbled and eyed his leg. “Does it hurt, old friend?”

_Old friend_, Ned thought bitterly. _Are we still friends? Or was it another lie._

“Some pain,” Ned assured him out of pure politeness. “But not all too much.”

“Pycelle swears you will soon be back to health,” Robert added and narrowed his dark blue eyes critically. “I assume you heard what your Lady did?”

“I heard it,” Ned replied warily and rubbed his head. “She must have acted out of grief. Our son…,” he began, but the Queen wanted to hear none of it.

“What right do you have to lay a hand on my blood?” she demanded to know. “Who do you think you are?”

“The Hand of the King,” Ned replied weakly. It was his only shield. “Appointed to the position by your King.” _But only as long as I need to settle these matters…I have enough of this pit of vipers…_

“You were…” the Queen began, but Robert cut her off.

“Be silent, woman!” the King roared. “He has already answered your question.”

Then, he ruffled his hand through his beard and drew closer.

“Seven men died for this, Ned,” he grumbled. “Abductions and slaughters on my streets…I won’t have it!”

“Catelyn acted wrongly,” he agreed unhappily. “I should have told you about my suspicions, but…,” he began, but Robert silenced him with a sharp look.

“Good that you are seeing reason,” he said sternly. “You will command her to release the dwarf at once. Whatever reasons she had…perhaps it had more to do with that bastard of yours. Women sometimes grow mad when they are confronted with their husband’s by-blows.”

“Cat has known Jon all her life,” Ned replied and clenched against the burning pain in his leg. _I cannot entrust him with my suspicions. Not until I have more proof. I need to win some time. For Cat’s and Jon’s sake._ “It must be grief. I imposed too much on her when I had the boy grow up in my home. Let me send a raven to Winterfell and a rider…Aye, I shall send one of my trusted men back to Winterfell to reason with Catelyn. ”

Robert smiled and the Queen grimaced.

“You are too good of a man to have the boy in your home,” Robert added and looked at his Queen. “See, it is half as bad as you made it out to be, woman. Mayhaps, we will laugh about all this in a matter of weeks.”

Ned didn’t think so, but it was better to keep Robert on his good side.

“For sure,” Ned added. “What about Ser Jaime? He attacked me and murdered my men.”

Robert wrinkled his brows in displeasure.

“He claims you rode off to bring the gold cloaks before the fighting began, but he admits you were returning from some whorehouse.”

“Whorehouse?” Ned asked, fresh anger stirring inside him. “I went to see your babe. Her name is Barra. She looks like your first daughter.”

Robert flushed red.

“Barra”, he said and ruffled his hair. “Is that supposed to convince me? Damn that foolish girl. I thought she had more sense.”

“She cannot be more than fifteen,” he accused Robert. “And this foolish girl is half in love with you.”

The Queen said nothing, her hands folded in front of her.

Robert’s temper flared.

“This is no subject for the Queen’s ears.”

Ned sighed deeply and brushed his hair out of his face. “I shall command Catelyn to stand down, but the Kingslayer must be punished, Robert. I want his head for what he did to my men.”

Within the blink of a moment, the Queen’s green eyes flared with anger, as bright and terrible as wildfire.

“No,” Robert replied curtly and shook his head. “I want no more fighting. Ser Jaime slew three of your men and you slew seven of his. That is enough blood to be spilled. I won’t have it.”

Ned shouldn’t have been surprised. Robert’s notion of justice also included squashed children and the poisoning of innocents.

Ned wanted to throw all of that in his face, but he would lose all protection if he lost his his position as Hand of the King. He realized that now.

“Ser Jaime may live ,” Ned replied unwillingly. He had better things to than to worry about the Kingslayer. He had to think of his daughters, his misguided wife and his…Lyanna’s boy. “For now.”

“Jaime will kill you before that,” The Queen hissed and rose to her feet. “My brother is more of a man that any of you…,” she was about to add, but Robert had lashed out in that moment, dealing her a vicious backhand blow to the side.

She stumbled against the table and fell hard. She hadn’t cried out and now her slender fingers were brushing over her red cheek.

“I shall wear this as a badge of honor,” she declared coldly and rose to her feet.

“Wear it in silence then,” Robert grumbled and then she was gone, Ser Meryn following after her out of the room.

“See what she does to me,” Robert added and drank from his cup of wine. “My loving wife…the mother if my children.”

He looked sad, more like the boy he had once known. “I shouldn’t have hit her…it was not kingly…”

He stared down at his hands, forlorn and lost. “I was strong and defeated Rhaegar…but I lost anyway. He has Lyanna and I have Cersei.”

_You never had he_r, Ned thought bitterly. _Lyanna was never something to be possessed. Rhaegar understood that and that is how he lured her way…He promised her freedom and a sword to carry around, all things my father forbade her. Forbidden things, sweet things. I drove her to it and Father too. You as well, but unknowingly. We were all blind fools, but I was the biggest of them all._

Perhaps Ned ought to give him a pinch of truth. Perhaps it would help to ease his obsession for the Targaryen children.

“Robert,” Ned said and leaned closer. “I have never told you this, but you must hear this. My sister, was not fond of the match with you. It was my father who wanted it.”

Robert looked at him as if he had been slapped.

“What say you?” he asked in a shell-shocked voice. “Is this your fever talking?”

“No,” Ned insisted firmly and touched his hand. “It is the truth. My sister was a willful thing like my Arya. She wanted to be a knight and carry a sword. She wanted to be like Benjen and Brandon. She wept bitter tears when father announced her betrothal…I am not telling you this to hurt you, but to ease your bleeding heart…,” he tried to explain, but Robert shoved his hand away.

“Utter nonsense!” he snarled. “Your sister was not like that. She was beautiful and sweet…,” he muttered to himself, but Ned grabbed his arm once more, squeezing tightly.

“My sister was no southron flower,” Ned told Robert. “And the only place she wanted to be was Winterfell. That is why I brought her back there, where she belonged. Neither Rhaegar Targaryen nor you could ever change that…And now listen again. I never told you about it because I thought it would only pain you, but what you said about Rhaegar’s children…your anger it is meant for him and not for them. You hate him for taking her away from you…it is a deep and festering wound, old friend. I can see that now, which is why I tell you again. Brush away your hopeless dreams for my dead sister and move on. Cersei Lannister is not a woman I love, but she is your wife and no women likes competition, especially not if it is a ghost she can’t fight.”

Robert said nothing for a long time. Then, he shook his head, a sad smile playing on his lips.

“I see,” he said, his dark blue eyes growing wide. “Now I see why you are telling me these lies…It is about the _dragonspawn_, isn’t it? You still want me to spare them?”

Ned gritted his death and dropped his head in defeat.

It should have known better.

“I do.”

“It is done,” he said in a cold and hostile tone that made Ned shudder. “It is done…speak no more of it.”

Ned swallowed hard and dropped his head. He had no strength to sit any longer. His leg throbbed and his heart bled with guilt.

_I must at least save Lyanna’s boy. It is the least I can do…  
_…


	8. Tyrion

**Tyrion**

“Do you want to eat, little dwarf?” mocked Mord, the goaler of the sky cells, and waved a plate with beans, onions and bread in front of Tyrion’s nose.

To Tyrion this food smelled like the greatest of delicacies. Even, so he tried to keep a certain amount of composure. He was after all a lion of Casterly Rock, even if he was just a little one.

“Honeyed chicken and cup of wine would be more to my taste,” he quipped back, seated on his heap of straw. “Or some nice cake. Do you have any cake?”

Mord didn’t seem to understand him and furrowed his brows in confusion.

“It’s beans,” he informed Tyrion. “Here…,” he added and offered the plate to him, as if he suddenly discovered his mercy. “Take. Good…Very Good.”

Tyrion said nothing. The man in front of him was a simpleton with brown hair and rotting teeth. The left side of his face was covered with a scar, where a blade must have cut off his ear and parts of his cheek.

His Lannister pride compelled him to refuse this gift, but Tyrion’s stomach was empty and he didn’t want to starve to death until Lady Stark had deigned him worthy enough to face his executioner. Only a day ago, he had given in and had told Mord to inform Lady Arryn that he wished to confess. Of course, that was a lie, but he had little choice. His balls had been freezing off, Tyrion’s most precious belonging.

Thus, he reached out, but Mord pulled the blade away and grinned savagely.

“Is here, little dwarf?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Is here?”

Tyrion felt like a little babe again, but perhaps that was what this fool thought him to be. He was after all not taller than a child.

“Is here?” the simpleton mocked again and again. “Is here?”

Then, he broke out in laughter.

Tyion’s ass ached too much, for him to care about this silly game.

“Do we have to play this game every single time?”

“Here?” Mord asked again, probably hoping Tyrion might fall for his trick again.

“I am not hungry,” Tyrion informed the fool and returned to his bed of hay.  
  
Mord grunted in displeasure and threw the plate away, the beans flying away like a flock of birds.

The fool laughed and Tyrion felt a curse burning on his tongue.

“You are fucking fool!” he snapped. “I hope you die of the bloody flux.”

For that, the simpleton kicked Tyrion’s groin and left him rolling over the hard ground.

As Tyrion closed his eyes to blend out the pain, all he could hear was the rattling of the keys.

When he had recovered Tyrion, huddled back beneath his thin blanket that was his only protection against the sharp winds that assaulted him day and night. The Arryn’s had queer cell, open to the sky, but probably the safest prison that had ever been build.

Even so, the cell felt incredibly small, even for a dwarf like him. Roughly six feet away, where a wall ought to be, the floor ended and the sky began.

Sometimes he was blessed with sunshine and at other times he saw the stars and the moon.

Even so, he wished for the darkest of dungeons and perhaps some company other than this simpleton.

A pretty girl would be nice or even Eddard Stark’s gloomy bastard.

Lady Stark had accused him as an accomplice, but strangely only Tyrion had been locked into this miserable cell.

_The boy has probably changed sides_, Tyrion thought and couldn’t even fault him for it.

While the boy had obviously been resented by Lady Stark, he seemed to have a cordial relationship with the rest of his family, something not even Tyrion could say about himself.

Still, it would be nice to have him here to keep Tyrion company. It was a joy to tease him and he wasn’t as bad as many others. He had at least not looked at Tyrion with disgust.

_We could keep each other warm_, Tyrion jested with himself. _The boy would probably kill me if I tried to get too cozy._

Still, he wondered what Lady Stark intended to do with the boy. Lord Stark had been fond enough of him to allow him to grow up with his family. Tyrion doubted Lady Stark would risk her husband’s wrath.

No, he doubted her goal was to kill the boy. She wants to see Tyrion die, not the bastard. Her goal is probably to accuse to be boy of a crime and to send him back to the Night’s Watch.

Tyrion might have even felt pity for the boy if he wasn’t locked up in this miserable place.

By now he had forgotten how much time had passed. Two or three days, it was hard to say, but at times it was hard to keep his sanity, especially when he dared to look down.

Worse was the wind, that was howling day and night. It was this wind that kept him from sleeping, for he was afraid that he might simply fall off the edge.

Sleep-deprived and starved as Tyrion felt, he was beginning to make up all kinds of scenarios in which he would escape and repay Lady Stark for this miserable experience.

Yet, all these scenarios were as unlikely as Cersei saying something kind to him.

By midday, the sharp wind finally died down a little and Tyrion finally found some sleep.

That was until he was woken in the most unpleasant manner possible. Another kick to his groin and belly.

“The Lady wants to see you, little dwarf,” Mord informed him and pulled Tyrion to his feet, dragging him along.

Not long after, he found himself thrown before a weirwood throne beneath the moon-and-falcon banners of House Arryn.

The boy seated on a heap of cushions was not taller than Tyrion. He looked sickly, his face pale and his eyes reddish as if he had just cried.

_So, this is the heir to the Vale_, Tyrion thought with scorn. _No wonder Jon Arryn hid him away._

“Is this the bad man?” the boy squeaked at his Lady Mother, who was seated on a smaller throne beside him.

She wore gown of blue wool, her face powdered and her lips red.

“He is so small,” the boy said and giggled. “Is he a child?”

“He is a dwarf,” added a familiar and stern voice. It was Jon Snow, who looked even more miserable than during his short stay at the Wall. Yet, unlike Tyrion he looked as if he had a better night sleep and a proper meal. “Not a child, your Lordship.”

“Who are you again?” the boy asked and seized Jon Snow up from head to toe, his blueish eyes narrowed as if he didn’t quite know what to make of him.

“Jon Snow, your Lordship,” he replied politely and dipped his head. “Lord Stark’s bastard. I was accused as an accomplice…,” he was about to explain, but Lady Lysa’s shrieking voice cut him off.

“The dwarf is Tyrion the Imp of House Lannister, who murdered your father,” she informed her son and the men that had assembled in the High Hall.

Tyrion didn’t believe his ears and when he looked at Jon Snow, he saw shock written all over his long face.

Yet, the boy regained his composure faster than anticipated.

Tyrion couldn’t say what it was, but there was something very different about Jon Snow in that moment.

There was a brazenness to his voice that surprised him.

“What other crimes do you want to lay before his feet, my Lady?” asked Jon Snow. “Did he perhaps instigate the Rebellion instead of the Mad King, who slew my Uncle and Grandfather? Did he steal my Aunt away and rape her? Did he start the Dance of Dragons?”

_Seven Hells, keep your mouth shut_, Tyrion wanted to shout at the boy, but his throat was strained and his tongue in knots. _You are going to get us killed._

As Tyrion turned around, his fears were confirmed.

The High Hall of the Arryns was long and made of pale, cold marble, but the faces around him were even colder.

Jon Snow didn’t seem to care.

“What proof is there for your accusations, my Lady?” he asked Lady Arryn. “And why do you not bring them before the King or his Hand?”

“Be silent, bastard!” Lady Lysa snapped coldly. “You will be dealt with later. The dwarf comes first.”

Then, she angled her head and looked at Tyrion, her blue eyes piercing into him like a sharp blade into flesh.

“Imp,” she added icily. “You and the bastard will guard your mocking tongue. This is the Eyrie and these are knights of the Vale you see around you, true men who loved Jon Arryn well and every single one of them would die for me.”

This threat roused Tyrion’s anger.

“Well, I am sure Jaime will be pleased to make sure that they do,” Tyrion replied and searched Jon Snow’s gaze. The boy must have gone insane to defend him. “And not even your mountains could stop him.”

“Can you fly?” Lady Lysa asked in return, as she leaned forward. “If not, you better keep your mouth shut, Imp.”

“I make no empty threats!” Tyrion spat back. “That was a promise!”

Young Lord Arryn clapped his hands together and screamed.

“You can’t hurt us! Tell him, mother!”

“The Eyrie is impregnable,” Lady Arryn assured him quickly and leaned over to touch his hand when the boy began to twitch uncontrollably. “The Lannisters are all liars. No, one will hurt my sweet boy.”

Yet, it was no use. The twitching became so bad that the boy had to be escorted out of the hall. 

“That is all good, my Lady,” Jon Snow made another attempt to speak after the doors had closed behind the young Lord of the Vale. “But so far you have not laid out how or why Lord Tyrion would murder Jon Arryn. I was also under the impression that he was brought here to be questioned regarding the attempt on my brother’s life…,” he was trying to reason with Lady Arryn and Young Lord Arryn, but Lady Arryn’s shrieking voice silenced him again.

“I told you to be silent, bastard!” she shrieked and turned her head, to call out for Lady Stark. She had stood a bit below the dais, where a handful of familiar faces had assembled. There was Ser Brynden Tully, Lord Nestor Royce and a younger man that resembled him greatly. There were many more men, representing the principal houses of the Vale. Tyrion spotted Ser Lyn Corbray, a slender man with black hair and presumedly his squire, old Lord Eon Hunter, the widowed Lady Waynwood and her horde of sons and the travelling companions that had helped Lady Stark to drag him all the way to the Vale.

There was Ser Roderik Cassle, Ser Willis Wode, and the weepy singer Marillion. The sight of the singer comforted him, for there was no better way to spread what was about to happen today than through the sweet sound of a song.

At the end of the hall, he noticed Bronn, the sellsword, who was lounging beneath a pillar of marble.

Lady Stark stepped forward. “They told us you wish to confess.”

“I do,” Tyrion lied. “I do.”

Lady Lysa smiled proudly. “The sky cells always break them. Perhaps we ought to have done the same with the bastard. He has a far too sharp tongue for his own good.”

Lady Stark didn’t even look at Jon Snow, but there was a hint of discomfort in her demeanor.

“The boy is only an accomplice,” Lady Stark explained. “I told you what punishment is intended for him.”

“The real accused is Lord Tyrion.”

Jon Snow was about to open his mouth again, but Tyrion shook his head and gave his ‘confession’, his gaze darting to the sellsword, his only chance for survival, no matter how he looked at it.

“Where to begin?” Tyrion asked and swept his gaze over the crowd. “My crimes are countless, my lords and ladies. I have lain with whores, I wished death upon my lord father, my sister, my queen, I have gambled, I have cheated and had done all kinds of vile things you cannot even imagine…,” he ranted on, which earned him a handful of laughter, which in return roused Lady Lysa’s rage.

“Silence!” she shrieked, he fingers digging deep into the wooden seat. “Are you trying to fool us, dwarf?”

Tyrion felt a hint of triumph as he cocked his head. “I am confessing, my crimes!”

“But no the crimes you were accused of, namely sending a hired knife to slay my son Bran in his bed and conspiring to murder Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King.”

Tyrion smiled. It was not much, but better than to go down like a coward.

“Those crimes I cannot confess. I know nothing of these murders.”

Lady Lysa’s blinked dangerously.

“I will not be mocked. Drag the dwarf back to the cells, Ser Vardis,” she commanded, but then Jon Snow stepped forward.

“Baseless accusations,” Jon Snow declared loudly and swept his gaze over the hall, before coming to rest on Lady Stark. “Think of Lord Stark and your children. What will the Queen or Lord Tywin do if you harm Lord Tyrion? Tywin Lannister wiped out three houses, because they rebelled against his father. You ought not to do this without proof and proof you have not.”

Lady Stark trembled, though it was fear or rage, Tyrion couldn’t tell.

“Very well,” Lady Stark said and laid out her theories. “I have a dagger and the word of a man I value as my friend…Lord Petyr Baelish. He told me that his dagger with whom my son was meant to be slain belonged to Lord Tyrion Lannister.”

Whispers and coughing could be heard. The mood had shifted in the matter of a heartbeat and Tyrion believed to know why when he laid eyes on the man’s face that had stepped from the crowd.

It was a man well-known to Tyrion. Lord Yohn Royce.

“My Lady,” he said and lowered his head in reverence. “May I speak?”

Lady Lysa looked as if she wanted to scratch out his eyes, but she granted his wish, nonetheless. How could she not? He was one of the most powerful Lords of the Vale.

“Speak.”

“Very well,” Yohn Royce said and looked over to Lady Stark. “I am familiar with Lord Baelish and what little I have seen of him is not very promising. He is not a man I whose word I trust. Do you have other proof than that? Another witness perhaps? Or a motive for this crime?”

“What motive does the dwarf need?” Lady Arryn asked in a shrieking voice. “He is a vile monster, born to bring death and suffering upon others.”

“So you are blaming him for being born?” Jon Snow asked bitterly. Tyrion didn’t know why but in that moment he felt a strange sort of kinship with the boy. _Like you. _“I see…all of what my father told me was wrong. I admit, I am only a Northman, but even we adhere to proper etiquette. Any accused is allowed to call upon witnesses and to explain his reasoning, but here you are locked up and tortured until you have no other choice but to confess. If Jon Arryn was only half as honorable as my father told me, he would roll in his grave and be ashamed of this spectacle…,” Jon Snow ranted, his voice rising like a terrible crescendo, which was abruptly silenced when Ser Vardis Egen drew his blade and pointed it at him.

Jon Snow lifted his hands in defense and stepped away from the throne, his gaze seeking Yohn Royce. ”My Lord Royce. You have known my father since he was a young boy in the Eyrie. Tell me, did he lie about Jon Arryn’s honorable character?”

Yohn Royce cleared his throat and shook his head.

“No, Lord Stark spoke the truth. Jon Arryn was a good and honorabl way. We loved him for that,” he replied and looked back at Lady Stark and her trembling sister. “And he would not have approved of this…So much is clear.”

“You will go, my Lord!” Lady Lysa shrieked. “I have heard enough of your brabble.”

Yet, Yohn Royce didn’t seem impressed.

“My Lady,” Lord Royce cautioned. “What the boy said is not wrong. This is a difficult matter. We ought not to do something hot-headed. Peace is a fragile thing.”

“Enough I said!” Lady Lysa shrieked and shifted her attention back to Lady Catelyn. “Why are you so silent, Cat?”

Lady Stark’s face had changed to the color of ash, her fingernails digging into her thigh.

“Aye,” Lady Stark replied, as if she he had suddenly awoken from a dream, her blue eyes searching Lord Royce’s face. “But you must know. Lord Stark believed me in this matter…,” she began, but then Ser Roderik stepped forward, his face filled with worry.

“He only did so on Lady Stark’s word,” Ser Roderik added almost too quiet. “And I too think the word of this Littlefinger is questionable at best.”

This was the last straw.

“I think you are forgetting yourself, Lord Royce and Ser Roderik,” Lady Lysa warned dangerously, like a snake ready to strike them at any moment. “Lord Baelish is not just _some_ man. He is Maester of Coin and Jon valued him.”

“Valued him?” Yohn Royce asked in a mocking ton. “Lord Arryn only made him Maester of Coin because he had a gift for sums and you asked it of him, isn’t that the real truth of it?”

Then, he swept his gaze over the crowd. “But we all know what kind of a man Lord Baelish really is. The owner of whorehouses and a flatterer that feeds on the scraps of his betters,” he continued, his voice drowned out by Lady Arryn’s loud shouts.

“Ser Vardis!” she shouted and shuddered. “Get this fool out of my sight!”

The knight stepped forward, but Yohn Royce lifted his hand in defense.

“I have no need of an escort. I shall leave by my own design, my Lady,” Lord Royce replied proudly and left, his gaze flickering to Lady Stark as he passed through the door.

„Now that is done we can finally continue,” Lady Arryn added and looked over to Lady Stark. “Mayhaps we should judge the bastard, before he opens his sharp mouth again. What do you think, Cat?”

“I am glad to hear it,” Jon Snow replied coldly as he looked directly at Lady Stark. “I want to hear your accusations against me? What proof is here other than a mere coincidence…,” he was about to break out into another rant when Lady Stark silenced him.

“Stop your ranting, Snow,” she said and swallowed hard. “You know what is laid against you. You may not have laid hands on Bran, but you were travelling with the enemy.”

“I was travelling south,” he replied firmly .”What a strange occurrence for a man wanting to go to King’s Landing?”

“You were never supposed to go there,” Lady Stark insisted. “You gave your promise to join the Night’s Watch.”

“I gave no vow!” Jon Snow roared. “I may be a bastard, but as long as I have given no vow I am not duty-bound to stay at the Wall.”

“But dishonorable….,” she countered, but Jon Snow refused to listen.

“Honor has nothing to do with this my Lady!” he snarled at her like a wild wolf. She backed away and Ser Roderik grabbed the boy’s shoulders to hold him back. “Let us talk about the real reasons for your accusations. I am a bastard that lives in your home. I understand why you dislike me, I really do, but you have known me all my life. I love my siblings and I would never harm them. No, Bran has nothing to do with this. You just wanted to make sure that I go back to the Night’s Watch so I would no longer pose a danger for your children. Call me dishonorable for breaking my promise, but you are just as dishonorable by making up false accusations that Lord Stark would never agree with.”

When Jon Snow had ended, he was breathing heavily, his gaze still fixed on Lady Stark.

“Cat,” Lady Lysa hissed. “I told you…best would be to send them both into the cells…,”she began, but Lady Stark shook her head.

“No,” Lady Stark replied. “The boy cannot be harmed.”

Then, she sought Ser Roderik’s gaze.

“All the boy must do is accept reason,” she explained, not even looking at Jon Snow. “I only want him to give a vow that he will go back to the Night’s Watch and he shall be free.”

“Or what?” Jon Snow asked tauntingly. “Are you going to kill me? You might not consider me a member of your family, but your marriage to Lord Stark still makes you my kin. And there is no one more accursed than a Kinslayer!”

_This was too much_, Tyrion thought as the whispering and coughing started anew. _To them you are still a bastard._

Had Jon Snow been a trueborn son, most would not have thought much of it, but Jon Snow’s outburst only prove Lady Stark’s belief.

“I am not surprised that you hate the boy,” Lady Arryn remarked and eyed Jon Snow with disgust. “He is as wicked as any bastard I have seen. What shall be done with him?”

In that moment, Lady Stark finally looked at Jon Snow.

Her face was hard as stone, but Tyrion noticed the slight tremor in her hands.

“Accept your punishment Jon Snow or you can join Lord Tyrion in the sky cells.”

“I would prefer a different way to settle this,” Jon Snow replied more calmly. “A simple way to solve our problem. A trial by combat.”

Lady Stark looked as if someone had poured a cup of cold water over her head, Lady Arryn leaned forward in her seat while the Captain of the Guards Ser Egen Vardis gave Jon a curious look.

“You are no knight, are you, my boy?”

Tyrion saw anger washing over Jon Snow’s face like a wave washing over a ship.

“I am a bastard,” he replied through gritted teeth. “But where I come from any man can fight to prove his innocence no matter the birth. In that matter even the North does not differentiate between bastards and trueborn children.”

Tyrion heard the rising of whispers behind him. The North might have its own rituals, but that didn’t mean these southron knights would respect them.

Tyrion also felt a terrible fear creeping over him.

“Jon,” Tyrion said. “This is utter madness…,” he began, but the bastard wanted to hear none of it. He shook his head and continued to speak.

“It is an easy solution and fast at that, my lords and ladies. If we lose we die and if I win we can go free. What do you say, my Lady?”

“You are as brazen as you are wicked, my boy,” Lady Lysa remarked and glanced over at Tyrion .”To fight willingly for a monster like this one.”

“This monster showed me more kindness than my own kin,” Jon Snow replied icily and in that moment his grey eyes had fallen back upon Lady Stark.

Tyrion felt a hint of sympathy for the boy, but he also thought him mad.

He would never win against a knight. It was like laying your head upon the executioner’s block.

_And yet you have not much choice_, Tyrion thought as his gaze darted back to Bronn, who had finally edged closer, a smile dancing on his lips as he regarded Tyrion_. But maybe there is another choice…_

“What do you say to Jon Snow’s offer?” Lady Lysa asked her sister. “A good chance to ride yourself of him, I say.”

Lady Stark shuddered, lifted her gaze to look first at Jon Snow, at Tyrion and then back to her sister.

She was shaking her head as she looked at Lady Lysa. “I don’t mean to hurt him. I just want him to go back to the Night’s Watch. Besides, this is a ridiculous offer. He is a bastard…a bastard boy cannot face a knight. That would be against the rules and insult the gods. It is a disgrace…,” she stuttered, but Jon Snow cut her off.

“But I won’t go back, rather die. And that won’t please Lord Stark nor would it please your gods nor my siblings. That way you would might rid yourself of the shame my existence caused you, but you would also lose Lord Stark’s love, my Lady. It is up to you…You brought us here and you have it in the hands to end this madness.”

“Enough,” Lady Sark said, first softly and then in a stronger voice. “Enough…,” she trailed off when a blond-haired man stepped forward, it was Ser Lyn Corbray’s squire. He was as tall as Jon Snow and looked his age, but there was also something soft and pliable about him.

“Forgive me, my Ladies, but there is no need for Jon Snow to fight a knight,” he said and smiled first at Lady Lysa and then at Lady Stark. “I think I know a far more appropriate arrangement.”

“Who are you again?” Lady Lysa asked.

“Mychel Redfort,” another man added with a brazen smile. It was Lyn Corbray. “My squire. I ask you to hear him speak. He always has some droll ideas.”

“Very well,” Lady Lysa replied sourly. “Speak, but make it quick.”

“I shall fight Jon Snow if it pleases you, my Lady. We are of a similar age and strength. A fair fight.”

Jon Snow nodded his head without hesitation. “I shall be honored to fight him.”

“This is even more ridiculous,” Lady Catelyn replied unhappily and searched Jon Snow’s gaze. “A squire and a bastard. I cannot allow that. I say it again, Jon Snow. Just give in and all shall be well.”

“No,” Jon replied coldly. “I won’t.”

“Well, I won’t put the faith of my hostage in the hands of a mere squire,” Lady Lysa added. “The boy fights a knight or no one.”

“He won’t have to,” Bronn remarked from the sidelines. “A green boy like you cannot face a knight. I shall take on the dwarf’s cause and lift this weight from your shoulders, boy.”

“I don’t understand,” Lady Lys said with obvious mistrust. “So you want to fight for the dwarf and the bastard?”

Bronn shook his head. “I only fight for the dwarf, but I won’t fight for the bastard.”

Tyrion couldn’t allow that. That would be unworthy. He was a Lannister, but not a disloyal man.

“You will fight for us both and be handsomely rewarded,” Tyrion insisted.

Bronn opened his mouth, but Jon shook his head and looked at Lady Stark. “I have no need of a sellsword. Your gods may think differently, but the Seven are not my gods. Even a bastard has some sort of honor and by that honor I demand to to prove my innocence.”

_Foolish boy_, Tyrion thought, but when he saw the satisfied smile playing on Lady Lysa’s lips, he knew that there was nothing he could do. _Foolish boy._

Lady Lysa looked back at Lady Star who continued to shudder like a young tree bared to the wind. “What do you think, Cat?”

“Lysa, I think this is unwise,” she said, her voice wavering. “I cannot have them die…this would lead to a war.”

Lady Lysa chuckled.

“You came here to demand justice and justice is what I shall speak in the name of my son, Lord Jon Arryn, the Lord the Vale and the Warden of the East.”

Then, she turned to look around and nodded her head in agreement.

“A trial we shall have. The bastard can fight brave Mychel Redfort, but who shall stand for the Vale?”

A young knight with a green viper embroidered on his cloak, stepped forward and knelt before Lady Lysa.

“My Lady, I would be pleased to fight for your cause.”

“The honor should be mine,” Lord Hunter said. “And for the love I bore Jon Arryn I shall avenge his death.”

“My father served Lord Jon Arryn faithfully as High Steward of the Vale,” Ser Albar Royce added in a booming voice. “Let me serve his son in this.”

“Since Mychel offered himself for the bastard it would only be right if I fight the dwarf’s champion. My lovely sword thirsts for blood.”

“I thank you for your kind offers my, Lords and Ladies,” Lady Lysa replied with a smile and raised her hand to silence them. “Ser Vardis Egen is the only one I can choose. He was ever my husband’s right hand and thus he shall also be his champion.”

Ser Vardis nodded his head in reverence. “I shall fight for you, my Lady.”

…  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed one thing from canon: Royce didn't stay in King's Landing.


	9. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

Rhaenys had watched the spider weave her net all day. The smart little animal had started in one corner of the room and had by now expanded her net to the other corner. Most people might have found it a boring occupation, but Rhaenys was used to perpetual boredom, a feeling every prisoner must be familiar with.

Well, she certainly received better treatment than most prisoners in the Black Cells, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel like a bird locked away in a gilded cage.

Jon Arryn’s death it had only gotten worse. It had been half a year ago that she had last gotten a fresh dress or shoes that fit her ever growing form. This was another matter the Hand of the King had taken care of for the King, who like his Queen, preferred to ignore Rhaenys’ existence. At times, she had quarreled with herself to go to Eddard Stark, but then one thought always held her back: Why would he care about Rhaenys?

This made her current dilemma even more difficult for her, for Eddard Stark had sent his steward to her this very morning, asking her to attend to him in the evening. At first, Rhaenys had been baffled by this request and had wanted to refuse, but after she had heard the newest rumors from across the Narrow Sea she believed to know what this was about and decided to meet with the Hand of the King.

These rumors made it even harder for her to calm her restless mind. She had been nothing but a small child of three namedays when her brother and mother been murdered by Lord Tywin Lannister’s henchmen , but so far she had never doubted that her brother had died that day.

To hear that he was supposedly alive and had wed her Aunt was even more flabbergasting to her. She couldn’t describe it, but she felt both relief and confusion. Why would her mother only save her brother? Of course, she knew why. Her brother had been the heir and a babe, that could be easily exchanged while Rhaenys’ had been a girl of nearly three namedays. Even so, her mother had hailed from Dorne where women could rule in their own right. Why would she just abandon her like this? That thought wouldn’t leave her no matter how often she wanted to rid herself of it. That this brother of hers had left her rotting in Lannister hands for all these years made it only harder for her to believe these rumors. But then, he might have just been afraid for his life. She knew all this, but the conflicting feelings in her heart made it all the harder to look at this matter rationally.

Yet, the real reason she was hesitant to believe these rumors, was that she didn’t want to give herself up to false hopes. It would only hurt too much if it all turned out to be a ruse.

“Princess,” a familiar voice startled her and caused her to turn around. “Are you there?”

Rhaenys lifted her head and found Ser Barristan standing at the entrance to her chamber. Today, he had been assigned to watch her, as the King would say. Rhaenys couldn’t help but to wince whenever she looked at him. He had once served her family and had abandoned them for Robert Baratheon, a man who neither deserved his loyalty nor the crown resting atop his head.

There were moments, Rhaenys had wanted to ask him about his past loyalties, but her fear had held her back. She was no real person, only a hostage meant to be wed to the most vicious creature that had ever walked the earth: Joffrey Baratheon.

Rhaenys had first met her betrothed when she was nine years and he had been pretty enough to look upon: golden-haired and green-eyed he resembled his mother, the Queen, but sadly not only in looks, but also in character.

Rhaenys had gifted him a book about the History of the Seven Kingdoms, which he had promptly burned. Yet, it would be a lie to say that she was the only victim of Joffrey’s torments. His siblings Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen both suffered under his tempers and self-importance. That the King cared little about Joff and that the Queen treated the boy as if he was a gods gift from heaven only encouraged him in his behavior.

Truly, Rhaenys feared the day when this boy would sit the Iron Throne. Robert Baratheon was a King who didn’t care about being King, but Joffrey, so she feared, could be another Mad King.

That she would bear children for this monster disgusted her even more.

Only once, after Joffrey had said something rather hurtful, had she considered telling the King the truth about _his_ children, but then he would have probably cut off her head instead.

The King was too blinded by his hatred for her family that would listen to _dragonspawn_ like her.

She also liked Myrcella and Tommen far too much to endanger their lives in such a manner.

“Princess,” Ser Barristan’s voice called her back to the present. “Princess.”

“I heard you,” she replied and tried to keep her voice low. She didn’t even look at him and picked her cloak from the stool placed against the wall. She wrapped the yellow garment over her shoulders and stepped towards the door.

“We ought to go,” she told him. “To the Tower of the Hand.”

Then, she pushed the door open and stepped outside. She had more freedoms now, but she would never be allowed to leave the Red Keep without at least a dozen of Gold Cloaks following after her, let alone her chambers without a member of the Kingsguard to keep her presence. In the past, it had always been Ser Jaime who had kept watch over her, but now he was gone, probably to prepare his war against the Starks.

When she had heard about the Imp’s abduction she had believed it to be another rumor, but now that everyone at court was speaking about it, she was sure that it was true. That the Hand’s bastard had supposedly worked together with the Imp to murder his own brother, had confused her only more.

She had spoken to the boy only once, but Rhaenys had always prided herself on her ability to judge people. She had taken one look at Cersei and had known what she was. The same with Joffrey. No, she doubted this brooding boy, who had allowed her to touch his precious wolf, would have harmed a child.

The Imp was a different matter, but the little she knew about him didn’t make her believe that he would do such a thing.

Cersei or Joffrey were the first people that came to her mind, but she wasn’t sure if the Hand would believe her in this matter either.

_Well, you have to speak to him anyway_, Rhaenys reminded herself after she had reached the solar that was located at the lower part of the Tower of the Hand.

She was not surprised when she found the solar only occupied by one of the Hand’s daughters. It was still early evening and Lord Stark was known to be a restless man. More than a good dozen of times a day he rode out unto the city to attend to all kinds of errant. He was certainly different from Jon Arryn, but then Lord Stark was much younger than him.

It was the older daughter who she found seated next to the large window, her needlework in hand and her Septa beside her. The younger girl was missing, but that was no surprise to Rhaenys. She doubted the girls had spoken much to each other since the incident near Darry.

Joffrey had been fluttering around Sansa Stark like a bee around a honey pot and had taken her on a walk where they had encountered the younger sister, who had been playing with a dirty peasant as Joffrey had informed them later. True to his nature, Joff had put the boy in his place, which in turn had supposedly angered Arya Stark so much that she had supposedly commanded her direwolf to attack Joffrey. Of course, only the Queen believed this nonsense, but when Sansa Stark had confirmed this story the peasant boy’s fate had been sealed. At least, Arya Stark’s direwolf had escaped, but Sansa Stark’s wolf had died on the King’s command.

Rhaenys had felt pity for the wolf, but the girl was an annoyance to her. Not only was the girl making eyes on Joff, but she was also incredibly blind to his true cruel nature.

Rhaenys had considered talking to her, but whenever she had approached the girl, she had been ignored, which made this encounter even more uncomfortable.

“Princess Rhaenys,” the Septa acknowledged her presence with a tense smile. “What a pleasant surprise…”

Lady Sansa forced a smile over her lips and dropped her needlework. It was clear that Sansa Stark didn’t hold much affection for Rhaenys, but she remained polite and lady-like as ever.

“A pleasure to have you here, Princess,” Sansa Stark replied and lowered her head in reverence. “Are you here on a specific errant?”

“Your father asked for my presence,” Rhaenys explained quickly. “I am a bit early, but I thought it better that way. Has the Hand told you when he would return?”

Lady Sansa shook her head. She was a very pretty girl with auburn hair and bright blue eyes.

Her smile was even sweeter. “My father is sitting the Iron Throne in the King’s absence, who has embarked on a hunt.”

Rhaenys knew about that too and nodded her head in acknowledgment.

“Then, I shall wait until his return, if it pleases you, my Lady.”

Sansa Stark eyed her suspiciously and waved her hand at the empty chair. “It pleases me.”

Rhaenys smiled and waved her hand at Ser Barristan.

“I shall wait.”

Sansa Stark said nothing to that and directed her attention back to her needlework. She worked for a while, never-ending silence stretching between them. Rhaenys wasn’t bothered by it, but the girl seemed annoyed by her presence.

Now and then, Sansa looked up, her blue eyes watching Rhaenys closely.

At first, Rhaenys thought she had something on her face, but when the Septa whispered something in Lady Sansa’s ear there was another reason for her indifference.

A heartbeat later, the Septa closed the door behind her, leaving only Rhaenys and Sansa Stark.

The girl exhaled deeply and dropped her needlework.

“Today is a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

Rheanys forced a smile over her lips. “I suppose it is. No, wonder the King left for a hunt.”

_I would know more about it if I was allowed to go outside without the King’s permission. _

Lady Sansa nodded her head. “Do you have no needlework to do?”

“I prefer books over needlework…and my harp,” Rhaenys said and leaned on her hand. “Do you play the harp, my Lady?”

“I do,” Sansa Stark said and smiled proudly. “But my father said the King doesn’t like to hear me play.”

“Of course, he doesn’t,” Rhaenys said. “I he hates everything about my father Prince Rhaegar. He was an excellent harpist.”

Sansa Stark’s elegant eyebrows rose to the top of her head.

“I didn’t know that…I only heard…,” Sansa Stark began, but Rhaenys cut her off before she was able to say more. She wanted to hear none of Robert Baratheon’s vile lies. Whatever her father had done with Lyanna Stark, she doubted he had raped her. She recalled him as a gentle and sad man, but had never been cruel towards her.

“I know what you heard, but I rather not speak about it.”

Lady Sansa swallowed thickly.

“Of course, not. Well, whatever your father did in the past. Joff will be a _true_ husband to you.”

Rhaenys felt the urge to laugh, when she heard the hint of jealousy in Sansa Stark’s voice. It was such a ridiculous idea that she was jealous of Rhaenys.

It made her feel both pity and frustration with the girl in front of her. Joffrey was not only a monster, but he was also a bastard born of incest between the Queen and her brother, Ser Jaime. It made Rhaenys wonder what Lady Sansa would say to that, but then she doubted the girl would even believe her.

Even so, Rhaenys needed do something about Sansa Stark’s silly infatuation with Joffrey. Rhaenys _needed_ to marry Joffrey, no matter much she disliked him. It was her only way to survive.

She decided that bluntness was the best way to address this matter.

“You better keep away from Joffrey,” Rhaenys replied honestly. “He is only seeing you as another pretty plaything. Next time, he might truly stab your sister instead of getting your direwolf killed.”

Sansa Stark looked at her as if Rhaenys had slapped her over the face, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out if it.

“That was Arya’s fault. Joff was just doing what is proper,” Sansa defended her Prince. “She was playing with a peasant.”

Rhaenys snorted. “Because skewering peasants is such a knightly thing to do? Do you even know what the Hound did to that boy? He cut him in half and fed him to the pigs. And do you know who demanded this kind of punishment? Joffrey.”

Sansa Stark shook her head in disbelief.

“It was the King who gave the order. Joffrey…he was innocent.”

“Joffrey is his mother’s son,” Rhaenys said. “He is proud and considers him above everyone else.”

“He is the future King,” Sansa said, anger visible in her narrowed blue eyes. “He is above everyone else.”

“My grandfather was a King too. That didn’t keep the Kingslayer from stabbing him when he overstepped his bounds.”

“Your grandfather was _evil_!” Sansa Stark stuttered, her cheeks flushed. The girl suddenly rose to her feet and stepped towards Rhaenys. “As was your father…and the rest of your family…they all deserved..,” she was about to continue, but by then Rhaenys had silenced her with a slap on the cheek. It had just happened, like an instinct.

Rhaenys couldn’t believe her ears, as she continued to speak.

“Deserved what?” Rhaenys asked. “Getting raped and murdered? Well, I could say the same about your Grandfather and Uncle, dear girl. My grandfather was monster, so much is true. I do not weep for him, but do not ever speak ill about the rest of my family or you will see a _different side_ of me…”

Rhaenys was about to pulled up her skirt and leave, but when she turned around she noticed that the Hand was standing inside the room, watching her with his serious grey eyes.

He looked grim, like a wolf, ready to pounce on his victim, but his gaze was directed at his daughter and not at Rhaenys.

Sansa Stark seemed just as surprised by her father’s appearance.

“Father…,”Sansa Stark stuttered, tears running down her face. “She hit me…,” she was about to continue, but Lord Eddard Stark cut her off.

“You will leave us now, sweetling. I wish to speak alone with the Princess.”

“But father…!” Sansa Stark protested, but Lord Stark’s icy gaze silenced her at once.

“You will leave us now,” Lord Stark repeated. “We shall speak later.”

Sansa Stark dropped her head, pulled up her skirt and disappeared through the door. Rhaenys felt a hint of triumph, but also fear.

She didn’t know how to speak to this man in front of her.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her,” she was about to apologize, but Lord Stark shook his head.

“No need,” Lord Stark assured her. “Sansa shouldn’t have said these things.”

Rhaenys didn’t know what to make of his words, but nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“You called me here, Lord Hand. Shall we speak?”

Lord Stark waved his hand at the stairs leading up to the Tower of the Hand.

“Let us speak.”

Once, the door had closed behind her, Rhaenys felt as if she had been put into another prison.

“You may sit down,” Lord Stark told her. “If it pleases you, Princess.”

“It pleases me,” Rhaenys replied and kept her gaze fixed on her shaking hands. She was not afraid of Lord Stark, but she regretted her headless actions. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to be provoked by this little girl. “It pleases me very much.”

When she had sat down in the chair, she lifted her gaze and found Ned Stark staring back at her with an unreadable expression.

She didn’t know why, but in that moment she had to think back on his bastard and how she had given him the ruby. At the first glance, Lord Stark and that boy really looked alike, especially when one looked at their hair and eyes, but now, Rhaenys suddenly noticed some differences that hadn’t been there before. Ned Stark’s face was much longer, his eyes were lighter and his son had a much softer feature.

“Are you well?” inquired Lord Stark, probably confused by her staring. “Do I frighten you?”

“No,” Rhaenys said and fisted her skirt. “I just don’t understand why you would call me here? Besides, the scene earlier…I am sure…,” she was about to continue, but Lord Stark cut her off.

“Is already forgotten,” Lord Stark assured her again. “Sansa shouldn’t have said these things. You have to understand….She has some odd infatuation with Prince Joffrey. She is just a little girl. Please forgive her.”

“She is forgiven,” Rhaenys replied and noticed the fat book lying on the table. She had seen it before, in Jon Arryn’s hands. “But I doubt that is the only reason you called me here, Lord Stark?”

“No,” Lord Stark said in a heavy voice and pushed the book aside. “The reason I called you here is rather delicate. The truth is…I want to help you.”

That was the last thing she expected. She felt the sudden urge to laugh, but suppressed her feeling by biting on her lips.

“Help me?” she asked, unable to hide the bitterness bubbling up inside her. “How could you help me?”

Lord Stark leaned back in his chair, his gaze sad and distant.

“You hate me, don’t you?”

She hadn’t expected such a blunt question. She was speechless for a moment.

“I don’t even blame you, Princess,” Lord Stark added and leaned forward, his grey eyes searching hers. “Tell me, have you heard the rumors about your brother’s survival?”

Rhaenys was stunned and tried her best to hide her feelings.

“You have,” Lord Stark said. “ I suppose nothing stays hidden in _this_ place for long.”

“Everybody knows,” Rhaenys pointed out the obvious, not really knowing what to say. Eddard Stark, the King’s closest confident, was not the kind of person she wanted to talk about with her brother. “And as you rightly said…nothing stays hidden in this place for long.”

“I see,” Lord Stark said and sucked in a deep breath. “Well, let me word this differently. Are you fond of the match with Prince Joffrey?”

Rhaenys didn’t know what to say. She feared a trap.

“He is my betrothed. He is dear to my heart.”

Lord Stark shook his head.

“You are lying,” Lord Stark said and Rhaenys felt the sudden urge to bolt out of the room, but somehow she managed to remain in place. “You don’t like him, do you?”

“I told you my answer, Lord Stark.”

“I understand your hesitation,” Lord Stark said in an almost soft voice. Almost like a father would speak to his child. “But I am not your enemy…I want to help you.”

“You are the King’s friend,” Rhaenys said. “And the King despises me. The only reason I am alive or not locked away with the Silent Sisters is the fact that I am pledged to wed Joffrey.”

“The King is my friend,” Lord Stark said. “But that doesn’t mean I agree with him all the time. I see that now, which is why I want to help you. At least, listen to my offer.”

Rhaenys exhaled deeply and crossed her arms in front of her. “Very well. Please tell me about your offer.”

“Once I have settled everything here in King’s Landing, I intend to take you with me to the North. My son is not like Prince Joffrey. You could be happy with him.”

It was a generous offer. Robb Stark a young man and heir to the North. She doubted she would want for anything, but that was not the point here.

The point was that her brother might be alive and marrying Lord Stark’s son would mean to betray him.

Yet, that was not the only reason that held her back.

“Why do you care?” she asked him again. “Tell me, Lord Stark. Why should I trust you?”

“Because I never approved of what Tywin Lannister did to that babe and your mother,” Lord Stark explained. “The incident nearly tore apart my friendship with the King.”

It was not the answer she wanted to hear.

“If you cared you would have made sure that justice was served,” Rhaenys said and tried not to blink as she rose back to her feet. “You might not have swung the blade yourself, but those that stand by while crimes are committed are just as responsible. I still see no reason why I should trust you nor why I should…,” she was about to continue, but Lord Stark grabbed her arm to hold her in place.

“You are in danger here, Princess,” he said then. “And I don’t know what will become of you when I am no longer Hand.”

Rhaenys pulled her hand free and stared back at him in confusion.

“There is _something y_ou are hiding from me,” she said. “You want me to trust you, but you are giving me nothing but half-truths.”

Lord Stark said and sat down his chair. He looked as if he was fighting with himself, before he waved his hand at the empty chair behind him.

“Please sit down and let us speak.”

Rhaenys sat down and waited until Lord Stark had regained his composure.

“You must swear that you will never tell anyone about this.”

Rhaenys nodded her head.

“I swear by my mother’s honor.”

Lord Stark leaned closer and spoke to her in a whispering voice. “I fear the King’ children are not born from his seed.”

Rhaenys blinked once, twice and a third time. Again, she felt the sudden urge to laugh.

Lord Stark’s grey eyes widened in shock.

“You knew.”

Rhaenys sucked in a deep breath.

“I doubt I am the only one. The only one who is blind to it is the King.”

“Gods be good!” Lord Stark exclaimed and buried his head between his hands. “This is a nightmare!”

“Do you intend to reveal the truth to the King, Lord Stark?”

Lord Stark lifted his gaze. There was shock written all over his long face.

“And you have yet to answer my question,” Rhaenys reminded him. “Will you tell the King? Is that why you will no longer be Hand and why you want me to go North?”

“Aye,” Lord Stark confirmed. “With Robert’s children removed from succession Stannis becomes his heir.”

Rhaenys wasn’t surprised to hear this and finally got her answer why he wanted her to go North.

“So, you think I am going to marry your son while Stannis is fighting my brother?” she asked, trying her best to hide her disgust. “No, my lord. That will never be. I rather die than to betray my family.”

“Your _supposed_ brother has no army to speak of,” Lord Stark countered. “The best for him would be to stay in Essos…that is the best way to avoid another war. You must see reason…,” he was about to continue, but Rhaenys had already risen back to her feet.

“It is not me who needs to see clearly,” Rhaenys said colder than she had intended. “One day my brother will have an army and then Dorne will support him. Either way, there will be war. If you think Tywin will just allow you to remove his grandson from the throne, you are very wrong, my Lord. And there is no guarantee the King will accept Stannis as his heir. It is more likely that he would murder his wife and children and take another wife.”

She was about to turn around, when an amusing thought entered her mind.

She looked directly at Lord Stark when she spoke again.

“But perhaps that is not even necessary. Your wife’s actions might just be enough to provoke a war with the Lannisters.”

The expression on Lord Stark's face betrayed that she had hit a wound point.

“Catelyn acted wrongly,” he said. “But it doesn’t change the facts. There is no guarantee that this boy is truly your brother. Do not throw away your life…,” he was about to continue, but Rhaenys wanted to hear none of it.

“My life?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice low. “My life is the only thing that belongs to me and I shall do with it what I want.”

Then, she gathered her skirts and threw one last look at the Hand of the King.

“You said you want to help me. Well, let me tell you how you can help me. Support the _true_ King, my brother…King Aegon the Sixth of his Name!”

When she stepped out unto the solar, she noticed Sansa Stark’s presence, her blue eyes following after her, but Rhaenys paid her no attention and left.

…


	10. Catelyn

**Catelyn**

The sky was cast in golden sunlight and the world below was as green as the hills and valleys of her childhood home, Riverrun. Cat had barely slept that night and had constantly turned from one side to the other.

At the hour of the wolf, she had stepped out unto the balcony to watch the rising sun paint the sky in a bloody glimmer.

Even during summer, the peak of Giant’s Lance was covered with snow, which in turn reminded her of Winterfell, the place she had called her home for the last fourteen years.

Thus, she had been standing here all morning, her feet freezing until the rising sun had cast its warm light upon her.

Yet, she felt no warmth, only dread.

_I shouldn’t have accused the boy_, she knew now, but decisions always proved wrong in hindsight. She had been so shocked to find him in the presence of the Imp and when he had spoken back so brazenly, she had been overcome by a terrifying fear. She had felt like on the day Ned had brought this gurgling babe into their home, claiming him as his son and forcing her to endure his presence among their trueborn children. Truly, she would have forgiven Ned a hundred bastards, but the fact that her husband had raised him in Winterfell was not something she had ever completely forgiven him.

_What if the bastard begets a child of his own_, she had asked herself in that moment and had acted. _Little babes with brown hair and grey-eyes like Ned. They might not be satisfied with their place in the world and do what bastards have done before, trying to take what is not theirs._

She had only wanted to protect her sons, but now she was beginning to realize how foolish that notion was.

_The boy could die_, she knew and felt her heart clench with an old pain. _And Ned would never forgive me for it._

Thus, she had spent the entire previous evening bickering with Lysa, asking her to call off the trial. Yet, she was insisting upon it and the boy was even worse…he was determined to fight.

_Why did he have to be so stubborn_, she asked again and wrapped her cloak tighter around her shoulders. _Why couldn’t he just go back to Night’s Watch?_

_He is a bastard_, she reminded herself. _It is in their nature_.

It was a cruel thought, but Cat couldn’t help but to feel what was in her heart. She could never love the boy, no matter how hard she tried.

He was a stranger, someone that should have never been part of her family.

“My Lady,” a familiar voice caused her to turn her head. It was Ser Roderik, who looked distraught as ever. She knew why. _He is blaming me_. “I bring news from the Riverlands. Do you wish to hear about them?”

A different kind of dread filled her when she stepped back into her chamber, where a sizzling brazier was placed to keep the chill at bay.

“What of the Riverlands? The last we heard was that Ser Jaime was amassing a host at Casterly Rock and that Edmure asked Lord Tywin to proclaim his intent.”

“It seems the fighting has already begun,” Ser Roderik said, not sparing her the guilt that was sure to come. “The Riverlands are burning my lady. Serval keeps were taken, the smallfolk butchered and the harvest burned. They say Lord Tywin intends bathe in the blood of his enemies until his son is released.”

Cat said nothing for a while and paced up and down the room. At last, she stopped and sucked in a deep breath, before her blue eyes searched Ser Roderik’s face.

“Where those Edmure’s words or your own, Ser Roderik?”

“Lord Edmure’s words,” the Ser Roderik. “Or better said his Maester’s. Well, I think it doesn’t matter. Whatever we do now, we better hurry.”

“The trial will be today,” Cat said. “And I must dress and speak to my sister.”

“You must keep her from committing a folly, my Lady,” Ser Roderik said and made no attempt to leave. “I hold no love for the Imp, but there is a chance that he is innocent. I think this has gone too far.”

Cat was surprised that he spoke so openly. It pained her, but he was right. Lysa should have never agreed to this trial and she should have never brought the Imp here.

_And I should have never accused, Jon Snow._

She quickly brushed these thoughts away and nodded her head in acknowledgment.

“I shall speak to her at once, good Ser,” she assured him at last. “In the meantime, I ask you to arrange a ship for us. It is time we take our leave from this place.”

“About that, my Lady,” Ser Roderik said hesitatingly. “Whatever happens, there is still the matter of Jon Snow…,” he was about to continue, but Cat had no patience nor the will to speak about the boy.

“Even if he wins, I won’t have him in Winterfell,” she told him. “I intend to send him to Ned. He will decide what to do with him. I shall wash my hands of this business and hope he forgives me.”

All tension left Ser Roderik in that moment.

“I am sure he will,” the knight said and moved towards the door. “Does that mean you are against the trial?”

“I shall try once more to change my sister’s mind,” Cat assured him. “And I ask you to speak to the boy. Maybe he will see reason if you tell him that I no longer expect him to join the Night’s Watch.”

“I shall try,” Ser Roderik promised and left Cat to her own thoughts. When the door had closed behind him, Cat called for her maids, who helped her dress quickly. Her hair she left unattended and she ate nothing. Facing her sister, would be no pleasure.

The shy girl she had known from her childhood had turned into a changeful woman, who was by turns proud, fearful, cruel, dreamy, reckless and above all, inconsistent.

Cat had never expected that her sister would make such a show. She had hoped for a private trial, but Lysa had invited the entire Vale.

When she reached the marble doors to Lysa’s chambers, she met her Grand-Uncle, his face flushed and anger glinting in his dark-blue eyes..

“You better slap some sense in that sister of yours,” he told her as he placed a sloppy kiss on her cheek. “But then you would probably just end up bruising your hand.”

Cat swallowed hard. “There was another raven from Riverrun. The fighting has begun.”

“I heard of it,” he replied softly. “Which is why I spoke to your sister. _The Vale cannot spare a single sword_, she had informed me. _You are the Knight of the Gate and your place is here._ Do you know what I told her in return?”

Cat gave him a fearful look.

“What did you tell her?”

“That she can find herself another Knight of the Gate. I am still a Tully. I suppose I am going home.”

Cat was not surprised. “When all is said and done, I shall go to Winterfell. You are welcome to join me.”

He gave her a quick nod. “As you say. I shall wait for you below.”

When he was gone, Cat stepped through the doors.

The first sound that reached her ears was the soft giggling of a child.

Lysa’s chambers opened over a small garden, a circle of dirt and grass planted with blue flowers and surrounded on all sides by tall white towers.

Lysa sat amidst all this, garbed in a velvet dress with a chain of sapphires and moonstones dangling around her neck. She was holding court on the terrace, overlooking a scene of combat and surrounded by her knights and lords, who had come to wed her and rule the Vale at her side.

Above everyone else sat little Robert Arryn, giggling and clapping as a puppeteer made two wooden knight hack and slash at each other. All the while, the guests were sipping on wine and feasting on fresh blackberries covered with whipped cream.

Lysa was laughing over Lord Eon’s jests, who was even older than Jon Arryn had been and half-crippled by the gout. Contrarily, Ser Lyn Corbary, who was standing on the other side, was handsome and heir to an ancient and poor house. It was also whispered that he held a liking for boys.

When Lysa noticed Cat’s presence, she greeted her with a kiss on the cheek.

“Isn’t it a lovely morning, Cat?” she asked and pointed at Lord Hunter. “You should drink a cup. The wine is Lord Hunter’s gift to me.

“Later,” Cat promised. “Lysa…we must talk _now_.”

Cat had spoken louder than she intended and the lords and knights had turned their heads to look at her.

“You must stop this folly, sister. I never wanted the Imp dead…I just wanted him to confess. Dead, he is of no value to me, especially now that a war is brewing in the Riverlands. And the bastard…,” she began, but was cut off by a sharp nod of her sister’s head.

“The bastard will finally be out of your way. The way I see it, I am doing you a favor, Cat.”

“This isn’t about me!” Cat tried to reason with her. “Ned is fond of the boy. I only wanted him to go back to the Night’s Watch. Please, see reason.”

“When you came here you put yourself under my protection,” Lysa countered and turned her back to her. “Have a little trust in me. Ser Vardis will defeat the Imp’s champion and the bastard…Mychel is the best young swordsman in the Vale. What can a bastard do against a fine squire like that? Nothing, I say.”

“It is true,” Ser Corbray assured her with a brazen smile. “Mychel is a fine swordsman. I would have squired him by now if I wasn’t so fond of his company.”

“And Lord Vardis is even better,” Lord Hunter added. He looked like a man who wanted to be desperately part of the conversation. “He will defeat the Imp’s champion.”

“Will he?” Cat asked. “I wonder if you are not overestimating him.”

Cat had seen Bronn fight. He was fast and younger than Ser Vardis.

By now, the more of her sister’s suitors had started assembling around them like a flock of bees around a blooming flower.

“Women understand nothing of such things,” Ser Morton Waynwood said. “Ser Vardis is a true knight. The other fellow…his sorts are cowards. As for the bastard, Mychel will show him his place. No need, to fret about it, my Lady.”

Cat remained skeptical.

“Still, there is no use in killing the Imp. The Kingslayer won’t care that that we held a trial for his brother before murdering him. I say it again, I never wanted the Imp dead, I only wanted him to confess.”

“Well,” Lysa said and gave a shake of her head, her waist-long auburn her trailing after her like a snake. “Then, you shouldn’t have come here in the first place, Cat. And the Imp and the bastard have only themselves to blame. Nobody forces them to fight. They can confess at any time.”

“There was no way to deny such a request,” Lord Eon Hunter insisted, but Cat wanted to hear none of it.

“The Imp is my prisoner…and the bastard boy…he is my kin by marriage,” she reminded Lysa. “Please.”

“And the Imp murdered my lord husband!” Lysa shrieked. “My son is fatherless because of him and now I want to see him pay. And the bastard boy…he insulted me. Alone for that he deserves to be punished.”

When she had finished her rant, she left Cat, her suitors following after her like a horde of sheep behind a shepherd.

Cat could only shake her head.

She had no doubt that the Lannisters had a hand in Jon Arryn’s murder, but she wasn’t so sure anymore that it was really the Imp who had killed Jon Arryn. Well, Lysa was certainly convinced and Cat…she too had been convinced about the Imp’s guilt.

_Could it be that Petyr was wrong_, she wondered not for the first time. _Could he have lied?_

It was Lord Robert’s laughter that caused her to turn around. She sighed when she looked at her nephew.

“The boy is too spoiled.”

“Very true,” the old Maester added softly, who had been standing close by. “Lord Arryn thought so as well. He was planning to send the boy to Dragonstone for fostering…Oh, I think I shouldn’t have said this…” he trailed off.

Then, he quickly added something about Lord Hunter’s excellent wine and was gone.

Cat called after him.

“It was Casterly Rock the boy was supposed to be send to, not Dragonstone...”

The old Maester opened his mouth, but the tolling of the bells cut their conversation short.

_The trial has begun_, she realized when the lords and ladies were beginning to move towards the balustrade. Not long after, the guardsmen brought forth Tyrion Lannister, Jon Snow and Ser Roderik following suit.

By the looks on Ser Roderik’s face she deduced that the boy was still determined to fight.

_Foolish boy_, she thought. _And foolish, Cat._

“The bad little man,” Robert giggled beside Lysa. “I want to make the Imp fly! And the bastard too!”

“Later my sweet,” she promised with a smile and waved her hand at Cat. “Stop hiding there, sister. This is all for you.”

Cat had to bit back a curse, as her gaze darted first to Jon Snow, the Imp and then back to Lysa.

“Who will fight first?”.

Lysa chuckled.

“The bastard is too brazen for his own good. If he is so eager, he can fight first.”

Lysa’s answer scared her, her gaze darting back to the battle ground, where the two champions were already assembling. Mychel Redfort was attended to by a younger boy and Jon Snow by the Eyrie’s Master-at-arms.

The youngest son of Lord Redfort wore shining plate over mail, a padded surcoat and a pointed helmet with a narrow slit for vision. Jon Snow wore plate too, but the armor was much simpler and the slit in his helmet’s was broader. The boys were also of a similar, but Jon Snow was slightly taller and leaner in stature.

_That is something he must have inherited from his mother_, she thought suddenly. _Ned is slender, but was never particularly tall. Brandon was half a head taller, but even he was shorter than Robert or Edmure. _

It made her think back on the one time she had dared to ask Ned about the boy’s mother. She had heard the servants whisper about Lady Ashara Dayne and when Cat had brought up her name, Ned had been furious, commanding her to never speak about this matter again.

_Jon has my blood. That is all you need to know._

Now, she was wondered again if it was true.

_They say that Ashara Dayne had been tall and graceful._

_It matters not_. _Ned will never forgive me if something happens to the boy, _she reminded herself, but it was already too late, for the Septon was already removing his crystal sphere from the bag fastened at his waist. He lifted it high above his head, making rainbows dance above the boys’ heads, who were forced to kneel before the weeping statue of Alyssa Arryn.

When the last words had spilled from his mouth, the Septon lowered his crystal and stepped aside.

As was custom, Mychel Redfort remained kneeling for a while longer, but Jon Snow had lifted his head at once, as if had just been waiting for the Septon to be gone.

_The Seven are not his gods_, she knew. _No, his gods are the old gods, the gods of the weirwoods, Ned’s gods._

“Are they going to fight now?” Lord Robert asked impatiently and clapped his hands together.

“Soon, my sweet,” Lysa promised. “Be patient.”

In that moment, Mychel Redfort rose back to his feet and was handed a shield made from heavy oak. Lysa’s Maester-at-arms did the same and offered Jon Snow a shield in the same build.

Next came the blades. Mychel Redfort received a double-edge longsword, engraved with the crest of his house. Jon Snow’s sword was of the same making, but much simpler. All she could hope for was that it was at least sharper.

“Make them fight!” Lord Robert demanded again. “Make them fight!”

The clinking sound of armor announced the beginning of the battle. The boys moved at each other in the same moment, their blades kissing in mid-air.

Within another heartbeat, the blades had parted and Jon Snow had moved to the side, aiming at his opponent’s left shoulder. He had moved quickly, his blade hitting first the shield before darting off Mychel Redford’s gauntlet.

Mychel Redfort retorted the attack with equal strength, aiming at Jon Snow’s right side and head.

Yet, Jon Snow had lifted his shield in time, the sword of his opponent darting off the wooden surface with a thudding sound. Mychel Redfort pulled back and in the same breath and Jon Snow discarded his shield and rushed forward.

Mychel Redfort hadn’t expected this move and was far too slow. Jon Snow dealt him a savage blow on the shoulder, which in turn brought Mychel Redfort off balance, but was not enough to do him harm.

Sucking in a deep breath, Mychel Redfort lifted is shielded to parry another one of Jon Snow’s blows, before he managed to regain his footing and returned the attack in equal measure.

He quickly pulled his shield back and dealt Jon Snow a barrage of blows in quick succession. One blow after another, her husband’s bastard parried them each with skill and agility. Still, a shield would have served him now, though Cat understood little about these things. He had wasted it for one risky attack or at least that was her impression.

Even so, Jon Snow didn’t give in. He knew he was not as skilled as Mychel Redfort, but he managed to keep out of reach, even so their movements had begun to slow down and were more sluggish than at the beginning of the fight.

This was no surprise to her. The plate armor must be tiring and the hot puffs of air rising from their breathing holes were evidence for it.

In that moment, Mychel Redfort decided to discard his shield as well, taking his sword with both hands.

They were facing each other now on equal footing, both of them circling around each other like two wolves, ready to tear each other apart.

Nothing could be heard, but the wind and a handful of whispers.

One, two and three heartbeats passed, before the two boys were at each other again, hitting and striking at each other with their blades. Mychel Redfort received a blow to the helmet while Jon Snow received a blow the shoulder, which left him gasping for air, but even so, a heartbeat later he was hacking at his opponent again.

It was a maddening sight, as if they were chasing each other in circles.

And so it continued. Back and forth they moved, dancing, hacking, shoving at each other. Again, the swords kissed and Jon Snow stabbed forward, Mychel Redfort parrying as quickly as lighting. He must have seen it coming, for he had put much strength into his next blow, the sound of metal meeting metal, ringing loudly in her ears.

Jon Snow stumbled backwards and Mychel Redfort dashed forward, bringing down his blade in a perfect arch. Jon Snow barely managed to parry the attack and grabbed his opponent’s arms, trying to bring him out off balance.

Yet, Mychel Redfort stood ground and bashed his helmet against Jon Snow’s. A bashing sound rang in the air, as Jon Snow stumbled backwards again and Mychel Redfort lifted his blade, aiming straight at his opponent’s head.

Cat’s heart nearly stopped, when Jon Snow had ducked out of the way by a hair’s breadth.

Yet, that was not the end of it. Her husband’s bastard wasted no time. Keeping his head lowered, he had slung his blade and free arm tightly around Mychel Redfort’s waist and was soon trying again to pull him to the ground.

Mychel Redfort was huffing, as he was ramming his elbow down unto Jon Snow’s back. The bastard boy gasped at every movement, but so did Mychel Redfort, for even after a good dozen of hits the bastard boy was still clinging to his waist and pulled even harder by focusing on his opponent’s right leg.

Finally, another hard pull was enough and Mychel Redfort was suddenly lying sprawled on his back, Jon Snow looming above him. Through the struggle, Mychel Redfort’s sword had slithered out of his hand while Jon Snow had obviously dropped it on purpose, as he was now bashing his fist of steel into his opponent’s helmet.

All the while, Mychel Redfort struggling and trying to pull Jon Snow from his body.

Admits the struggle, Jon Snow had again taken hold of his blade and aimed the tip at his enemy’s neck.

Mychel Redfort must have seen what he was trying to do, for he had grabbed Jon’s arm, before the blade was able to touch him.

Cat could hear the sound of clenching teeth, as he wrenched Jon Snow’s arms to the side, the blade slithering out of his hand.

A muffled cry escaped Jon Snow’s mouth, as he grabbed his opponent’s arms and bashed his fist back into Mychel Redfort’s helmet. It was a savage bow that made the boy’s head tilted backwards.

A good dozen of heartbeats passed before he moved again, albeit rather sluggishly.

Jon Snow had made use of that moment and had again seated himself atop his opponent, the dagger, he had been wearing fastened at his belt, pointing at Mychel Redfort’s neck.

“Yield!” Jon demanded of his opponent, his labored voice muffled by the visor of his helmet. “Yield!”

Mychel Redfort struggled some more, before he lifted his gauntlet and muffled a weak reply.

Cat could barely hear it, but Jon Snow must have, for he immediately crawled from the boy’s chest and pulled off his helmet.

His lips were cracked and blood was dripping from his mouth and nose, but he was alive.

Cat felt relieve, but there was also anger, especially, when the boy threw her a brazen half-smile.

_He is laughing at me_, she believed.

“The gods have spoken,” the Septon mumbled softly when the first bouts of whispering had died down. “The gods have decided that Jon Snow is innocent.”

Lord Robert looked disappointed.

“Why did he not kill him, mother?”

“Because a man has a right to yield, my young Lord,” Ser Lyn Corbray added in obvious displeasure, as he made his way to his squire, who was being helped back to his feet by Jon Snow and the Master-of-arms. “Don’t fret, Mychel will get his punishment for this failure.”

Lysa looked even more disappointed, but she did what she always did. She moved on.

The boy frowned. “I want to see him fly!”

“The Imp needs to be judged,” Lysa declared and flashed Jon Snow a cold look. “Move out of the way, bastard. We have not time to spare for _these_ child games.”

Jon Snow dipped his head and stumbled back to Roderik’s side, who helped him walk to the side, where he sat down in the grass.

“The bastard was better than I thought,” Lysa whispered to her, her blue gaze fixed unto her own champion. “Ser Vardis will not disappoint me. You will see.”

Cat nodded her head, but felt even more doubts rising up inside her.

“Lysa,” she began, but her sister squeezed her arm tightly and silenced her with a shake of her head.

“Enough talk,” her Lysa said and waved her hand at champions, who was taking position on the other side of the battle ground. “The battle is beginning.”

The ceremony repeated itself, as the Septon made the two opponents kneel and repeated the prayers before leaving the battlefield to the two opponents.

Ser Vardis and Bronn couldn’t be any more different. Ser Vardis wore heavy plate and Bronn appeared almost naked. He wore ringmail over boiled leather, a half-helmet and steel boots. His blade was sharp and clean while Ser Vardis’ blade was pretty too look upon, all shiny and silver.

“I had it made for Jon,” Lysa whispered proudly. “What better blade to defend my husband’s honor.”

Cat couldn’t agree. She had the feeling that Ser Vardis would prefer his own blade.

With a last salute, the two champions took position and received their shield and sword, Ser Vardis from the hand of his squire and Bronn from the hand of the Master-of-arms that had assisted Jon Snow in the previous fight.

Ser Vardis moved slowly and brought up his heavy shield. Bronn turned to face him and their blades met once, twice and a third time. It was meant to test the waters and when it was done the sellsword backed off, keeping his distance.

The knight followed, holding his shield before himself. This was a different kind approach to battle. This man lacked Mychel Redfort’s and Jon Snow’s youthful passion.

His movements were calm and precise, but no use against the sellsword agile movements. Every time, Bronn managed to move out of the way, the silver blade painting invisible patters unto the blue sky above.

In that moment, the sellsword circled to his left while the knight pressed forward. This time, Ser Vardis attacked without hesitation, hacking and slashing at the sellsword, who leapt away, hopping over a moss-covered stone. As the knight tried to follow him, he circled left, away from the shield, towards the knight’s unprotected side.

In that moment, Ser Vardis attempted a hit at his leg and Bronn moved away again.

He was playing hide and seek with his opponent. Ser Vardis was not even seeing it.

“The sellsword is a craven,” Lord Hunter cursed. More such nonsense left the man’s mouth, but Cat looked over to Ser Roderik, who had returned to her side.

“The sellsword is fast,” Ser Roderik whispered. “And Ser Vardis’ armor will tire him out quickly.”

Cat nodded her head. She had seen men in the practice yard and tourneys, but this felt different. 

None of these men would yield, as Ser Corbray’s squire had done in the previous battle.

This was a fight to the death.

It reminded her of another duel, long forgotten.

They had met in the lower baily of Riverrun and when Brandon had seen that Petyr had only worn a helm and breastplate, he had taken off most of his armor.

Petyr had begged Cat for a favour, but she had turned away. She had been promised to Brandon and thus she had given him a blue ribbon she had embroidered with the leaping trout of Riverrun.

“He is only a foolish boy,” she had pleaded with Brandon. “But I love him like a brother. It would grieve me to see him die.”

Brandon had looked at her with these grey eyes and had promised her in the same breath that he would spare Petyr.  
  
Even so, the fight had soon turned bloody. Brandon had chased Petyr across the baily and down the water stair, steel raining down on him with every step, until the younger boy had been staggering and bleeding from a hundred wounds.

“Yield!” Brand had demanded more than once, but every time Petry had refused. At last, Brandon had dealt Petyr a savage backhand that had cut through his leather and deep into his flesh. In that moment, her father’s ward had looked at her with wide eyes, as a spurt of crimson blood had flowed out of his wound.  
  


A fortnight had passed before Petyr had been strong enough to leave Riverrun, but she had been forbidden to seen him and thus Cat had obeyed as she had always done. It had been Lysa who had nursed him back to health.

Even Edmure had asked after Petyr, but he had sent him away, for he had served as Brandon’s squire during duel…

It was the ringing of steel that called her back to the present.

Ser Vardis was now slashing at Bronn, driving into him with shield and sword. Again and again, the sellsword moved aside, stepping lightly as if he was dancing to jolly tune instead of fighting a battle to the death.

Bronn had waited patiently for his chance when he managed to hack a notch from Ser Vardis’ shoulder blade.

Again, Ser Vardis hacked at the sellsword, who disappeared behind the weeping statue, the blade kissing the marble.

“They are bad!” Cat heard Lord Robin complain. “Why are they not fighting properly?”

“They will,” Lysa promised unhappily. “They will.”

By now, some of the lords were refilling their wine cups while Tyrion Lannister was watching the dance with fascination.

Jon Snow was the same, but his sight was blurred, as he was holding a cloth to his bleeding nose and lips.

As Cat turned back to the fight, Bronn came out from his hiding and aimed a two-handed cut at the knight’s unshielded side. Ser Vardis managed to block the blow, but only barely, before sellsword’s blade flashed upwards at the man’s head.

Ser Vardis stumbled backwards and raised his shield while Bronn’s blade cut into the wooden shield. As he had done this, the sellsword had stepped to the left, away from the shield, catching Ser Vardis across the stomach, the sharp edge leaving a bright gash where it had cut into the plate.

Within the blink of a moment, Ser Vardis rushed forward, his silver blade descending, but the sellsword slashed it aside and danced away again.

Clumsily, the knight crashed into the weeping woman. After he had managed to pull himself back to his staggering feet, he turned around and searched for his opponent.

“Behind you!” Lord Hunter called far too late, for Bronn brought down his sword down. The thin metal that protected the joint crunched with a terrible sound as the tip of the sellsword’s blade went where it belonged and left the knight grunting and turning for his weapon.

This time, Bronn decided to stand his ground and fought. The blades kissed and the song of steel rang bright and strong over the pale towers of the Eyrie.  
  
“Ser Vardis is hurt,” Ser Roderik told her, his gaze half-resting on Jon Snow, who was focused on the fight, his white cloth drenched with blood.  
  
Cat nodded her head in acknowledgment. She had known all that just by looking at the way Ser Vardis was moving and the way the crimson blood was running along his forearm.

Ser Vardis desperately tried to ward off the sellsword’s blows, but Bronn was faster.

And his cuts were beginning leaving their marks. Deep shining gashes dotted the knights armor and even from afar Cat could heard his laboring breath.

“Enough, Ser Vardis!” Lysa called. “Finish him now!”

Ser Vardis did as Lysa had asked of him. He continued to fight, reeling backwards one moment and charging forward in the other. One sudden movement, had nearly caught the sellsword off guard after Ser Vardis had slammed his shield into his face.

Bronn had staggered backwards, tripping over a rock, but caught hold of the weeping woman to keep his balance.

Seeing his chance, Ser Vardis discarded his shield, using both his hands to raise his sword.

The blow would have cut the sellsword apart, but the sword had danced off the marble elbow.

A heartbeat later, the statue crashed into Ser Vardis, taking the knight down with him.

The sellsword was quickly at him, kicking what was left of his shattered rondel aside to expose the weak spot between his hand and his breastplate. 

Cat heard the knight grunt in pain, as the sellsword lifted his blade with both hands and drove it down under the man’s arm.

The man groaned. Then, he moved no more. He was gone.

Silence reigned supreme when Bronn pulled off his helmet. His lips were smashed and bloody, his black hair soaked with sweat.

“Is it over?” Lord Robert asked as the sellsword spit out a broken tooth.

Cat shuddered.

No, it was only the beginning.

“Yes,” Lysa said glumly. She looked like a sullen child. “It is over.”

“Can I make him fly?” Lord Robin asked again. “Please, mother!”

“Not me,” Tyrion Lannister quipped and stumbled over to them. “This little man is going down, my young Lord.”

“You presume,” Lady Lysa began, unhappily, but the Imp cut her off.

“I presume that you remember your House’s words,” the Imp said. “As High as Honor.”

The boy screamed and Lysa’s face changed to a bright crimson color. “The gods have deemed you innocent, Imp. My guards shall take him and his creature out of my sight. You will be escorted to the Bloody Gate and set free. You shall also be given your weapons. You will have need of them…this I promise you.”

“The high road,” Lord Tyrion said with a stricken look. Lysa smiled. It was another death sentence and Jon Snow seemed to recognize that as well, for he was quick to offer his services.

“I would be pleased to accompany Lord Tyrion back to King’s Landing, my Lady,” Jon Snow said and lowered his head. “And I would also ask of you to offer me a handful of brave men from the Vale to accompany me on my travel. I am sure my father, the Hand of the King, will be pleased to receive Lord Lannister back in King’s Landing to attend to this _matter_ personally and to restore _peace_ to the realm.”

_He knows about the war in the Riverlands_, Cat realized then and knew at once from whom he had heard it when she saw the guilt-ridden look washing over Ser Roderik’s face.

“A good idea,” Ser Roderik added quickly and swept his gaze over the knights and lords that were watching everything with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. “I am sure Lord Stark would reward any man handsomely for escorting Lord Tyrion back to King’s Landing. What do you say?”

No one spoke. They were as shy as a maid before her suitor, their eyes searching for Lysa.

“No man will leave the Eyrie without my permission,” her sister informed them promptly and looked around. “I rule the Eyrie and my lords stand with me.”

Cat, who finally recovered from her shock, decided to step in, even if it hurt her pride.

To speak for Jon Snow, was the least thing she ever expected to do.

“The Hand of the King stands above you, Lysa,” Cat reminded her. “Let them go.”

Lysa gave her a flabbergasted look, her mouth opening and closing, but no sound leaving her mouth.

It was then, that Andar Royce stepped forward, Yohn Royce’s oldest son and heir.

“I shall go with you, Lord Snow,” Andar Royce declared. “My father is already on his way to King’s Landing. I can offer a dozen of men.”

“I shall go as well, if it pleases you,” added another young man. He was a tall, thin-faced man with the sigil of House Redfort embroidered on his chest. “I am Ser Jon Redfort.”

Jon Snow looked hesitant. “It would be my pleasure, Ser Redfort.”

“Did you not listen what I said?” Lady Lysa asked Andar Royce and Jon Redfort. “You will suffer consequences if you go against my command.”

“Pardon, my Lady,” Andar Royce replied politely, but with a hint of mockery in his voice. “But my father commanded me to offer my services if I see fit to do so. If you wish to threaten my family you are welcome to do so, but you shouldn’t forget that my father is friend to the Hand of the King and King Robert himself. As Lady Stark rightly said…the Hand of the King stands above you.”

“Which is why I shall also offer my services,” Ser Jon Redfort added lightly. “And ask you to bring your grievances before my father, my Lady. He too liked to go hunting with Lord Stark and King Robert.”

By then, Lysa face had changed to the color of fresh-fallen snow, her lips quivering as if she was standing ankle-deep in ice water.

“You will pay for this,” she spat at them and left.

Jon Snow smiled in relief, before he turned to Cat.

His eyes were dark and black like the night, so very different from Ned’s. _The eyes of a stranger._

He looked as if he wanted to say something to her_, _but quickly shifted his attention back to the Imp.

“Would such an arrangement please you, Lord Tyrion?”

The Imp smiled.

“It would be my pleasure to be accompanied by such brave men.”

...


	11. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Dany watched as the flames made the eggs in her lap glow. The one in her hands was black like the night sky with red vines snaking their way along the rippling surface. The other two couldn’t be any more different. One was green like the summer sea and flecked with gold and the other was white and covered with a rippling pattern of silver and bits of gold.

They felt warm when she touched them, but whenever she held one to her ears she heard nothing.

Yet, she had felt it. There had been a pulse. She was sure of it.

_You are alive_, she whispered to the egg. _You are alive._

Jon Connington, the Lord of Griffin Roost, had called her foolish for uttering such words in his presence while her supposed nephew had only shrugged his shoulders when she had asked him the same question.

_If there is a way to hatch them, our ancestors have long forgotten how to do it._

Aegon was so unlike her brother Viserys and that was certainly a good thing in some way, but at other times she wished it was otherwise.

Viserys would hit her whenever she said something stupid, but he would have never allowed anyone to mock her.

Yet, when she listened to Jon Connington and the Magister, she had the feeling that she didn’t matter to them.

She was only Aegon’s wife, the true heir.

It made her angry at times, though she tried her best to hide it. It wasn’t like she begrudged Aegon for the crown, but she couldn’t help but to mistrust him.

For years, Dany and her brother Viserys had been beggars with the usurper’s swords at their heels while Aegon had resided safely on some pole-boat in Volantis.

The thought alone was enough to make her grit her teeth, but then her nephew had also saved her from a demeaning marriage to Khal Drogo.

She owed him for that and had wed him without reservation.

As a child, she had never questioned the idea of marrying Viserys. He was a Prince and she a Princess and their ancestors had practiced this tradition for centuries.

Yet, _these_ Princes had been good and brave. Viserys was neither. He had been cruel and vicious ever since he had been forced to sell her mother’s crown. Perhaps before that he had been good, but she couldn’t remember. Her childhood memories were too blurred to remember all of it, but she did remember one thing: her brother had protected her.

Aegon had protected her too, but only this once and then he had probably only done it because it was to his advantage.

_Viserys mistrusts him too_, she knew and turned away from the window overlooking the gardens. The servants were harvesting apples. It were three naked boys and one girl, who were picking up the fruits from the ground to put them into baskets lined along the wall.

Dany herself was submerged in the pool of water, the heat rising from it in waves of white steam.

This is how she liked her bath best. Scalding and hot.

_I am a dragon_, she reminded herself and dipped her head in the water before making her way back to the stone-steps leading out of the pool of water.

Her handmaid, a Lysean girl by the name of Doreah, sat at the side and held a fresh dress and a towel in hand.

The girl smiled at her. She was beautiful, all blue-eyed and silver-haired. The girl was meant as a wedding gift for Dany, but when the wedding to the Khal had been called off her presence had become obsolete.

Thus, Dany had asked to keep Doreah and the other two girls, named Irri and Jhiqui. She had set them free too, though neither seemed to really understand the concept of freedom. They liked her and the gifts she had given them; fine garments Aegon had gifted her.

Dany had only kept those garments she had use for. Most of them were made of simple cloth, but brightly-colored dresses that reached to her thighs and allowed to wear wide breeches and sandals beneath. She was a Princess, but only until they had come to live in Illyrio’s mansion had she truly dressed like one.

If Aegon was bothered by it, he hadn’t said a word to her, though Jon Connington had frowned at her strange garb.

Not that she cared about his opinion. Their first meeting had been enough to make her dislike the man.

“Do you want me to braid your hair?” Doreah asked when she had rubbed Dany’s hair dry.

“I can do it myself,” Dany told her handmaid and pulled her dress over her shoulders. Then, Doreah wound the gilded belt around her waist. “Do you have my sandals?”

“Irri has them,” Doreah replied and was quick to open the door for her. Outside, her other two handmaids were waiting for her. Irri was tall and tanned, her eyes big and brown. Jhiqui was slender in build and her hair reached nearly to her ankles. Both hailed from the lands in the east and Irri spoke the Dothraki tongue perfectly, though Dany had no use for it anymore.

_You ought to learn about Westeros_, Jon Connington had told her not long ago and she had told him that she knew plenty, but the rude man had told Septa Lemore to educate her daily.

Such a lessons was about to begin soon and thus Dany was forced to leave the privacy of her bath behind her.

“You may leave me now,” she told the girls after they had returned to her chambers and had brushed her silver hair. “And tell Septa Lemore that I am expecting her.”

Not long after, the tall and dark-haired woman entered her chamber. She wore the robes of a Septa, but due to the heat she refrained from covering her hair. Whoever she had been before her time as a Septa, she was still a beautiful woman, despite the handful of wrinkles beneath her eyes and around her mouth.

“I brought books,” she announced kindly. She showed Dany the scrolls and parchments she had carried in her arms. “History and Geography will be our first part.”

Dany was intrigued by the books, but she remained hesitant. The woman had been nothing but kind to her since they had met, but she couldn’t bring herself to completely trust her.

“I thought we would start with the Faith,” Dany said and waved her hand at the cushioned seats arranged around the low-set table. “I the history about of the Targaryens and I know the basic geography of the Seven Kingdoms, but I know next to nothing of the Faith beside the names of the Seven.”

The Septa chuckled as she placed the books and parchments on the table.

“The Faith is quite boring,” she said and sat down. “I thought we should begin with something more interesting.”

Dany couldn’t help but to feel amused by this answer and sat down at the table, her eager eyes taking in the maps and parchments again. “And yet you are a Septa.”

“That was never my true calling,” Septa Lemore explained and smiled warmly. “It was something I did to escape an unwanted marriage.”

Dany felt an instant flash of sympathy towards the woman. “Who was your chosen husband? Was he ugly or cruel?”

“Oh no,” Septa Lemore. “He was a highborn lord and a good man, but chosen for me by my father to cover up an embarrassment, my daughter.”

“You had a child?” Dany asked in shock. “Was she taken away from you? Is that why you are Septa?”

Pain washed over her beautiful face, but a smile curled on her full lips.

“I still have a daughter. She resides in Starfall with my family and grew up as my younger sister.”

The name Starfall roused something in her memory.

“Starfall,” Dany said hesitatingly. “I heard that name before…,” she trailed off.

“I am not surprised,” Septa Lemore said. “I should have told you my name earlier, but with all this commotion going on I thought it best to hide my identity for the time being. My true name is Lady Ashara Dayne and my brother was Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.”

Dany didn’t believe her ears, but she saw no falseness in the woman’s dark violet eyes.

“Why should I be upset?” Dany asked. “My brother only ever told me goods thing about Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.”

“My brother was a good man who did his duty and died for it,” Lady Ashara said, her voice laced with pain. “But I am not as innocent as I appear. That daughter of mine, she was fathered by an enemy of House Targaryen, the very man who sparked the fire that led to the rebellion…Brandon Stark.”

Dany shuddered when heard this name.

“Then, I am sad that your daughter grew up fatherless,” Dany said and pulled her cloak tighter around her shoulders. She tried her best to hide her feelings from the prying eyes of Lady Ashara. “I know what that feels like.”

“I am sure you do,” Lady Ashara said and smiled encouragingly. “But you are wrong. My daughter had a father…her grand-father. My Allyria was always well-cared for, but you were not and for that I want to apologize on Aegon’s and Jon Connington’s behalf.”

Dany’s mood soured when she heard that.

“Apologies are of no use to me,” she told Lady Ashara Dayne. “Aegon thinks that giving me a crown and silks is going to take away the pain he caused me and my brother, but it is not that easy. And Jon Connington, he is not a man I trust or like.”

Lady Ashara exhaled deeply and nodded her head in understanding.

“Jon meant well,” she tried to explain, but Dany cut her off.

“I know that he wanted to protect Aegon… But what about me and Viserys? How long would Aegon have stayed in hiding if he hadn’t heard that his bride was given away to another man? Another year? Two? Three? No, spare me the answer. He is my husband, but that doesn’t mean I have to love him nor does it mean I have to show respect to Jon Connington. I rather wish Aegon would send him away.”

Lady Ashara said nothing for a moment, before she leaned over the table and touched Dany’s arm.

“Jon is a difficult man, but there is no man who loved your brother more than him. He would die for Aegon and I am sure he would be willing to die for you…and for your brother. Deep down, he is a good man, but being a leader sometimes means to difficult decisions. Believe me, I am sure he regretted every day he left you unprotected and alone, but he only did so on the magister’s advice.”

“Then why is the magister still alive?” Dany asked, trying her best to hide her anger. “Why was he not punished for his betrayal? My brother may be cruel, but he is not wrong…Ilyrio is a traitor.”

“There are many traitors you will come upon when you return to Westeros,” Lady Ashara added soothingly and tightened her grip on Dany’s arm. “Some of them good and bad men. Illyrio…I don’t know what kind of man he is, but I know that we cannot accomplish anything without his help.”

Dany chuckled bitterly and pulled her hand free from Lady Ashara’s grasp.

“I suppose my husband is another beggar,” Dany replied. “And Viserys is a liar. He used to tell me that the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms are waiting for the return of their King. Is any of it true?”

“Not all is wrong,” Lady Ashara said. “There are certainly those who are still loyal to the cause of House Targaryen and who will rise for Rhaegar’s son, but there are also those who will not follow you. The usurper dog’s, as your brother called them so charmingly, but to win back the crown you and Aegon need to convince these lords to follow you or you will have to toil for a thousand years for victory.”

Dany liked that idea much better than Viserys’ dreams of fire and ash raining down upon their enemies.

“They don’t have to die,” Dany agreed. “But I there are those who deserve no mercy. The Kingslayer….he murdered my father. His head I want the most, but there is also his father…Lord Tywin Lannister. He was supposedly responsible for the death of Princess Elia. Him I want dead too for betraying my family.”

Lady Ashara said nothing to that and rose to her feet. “There is much hatred in you. I share that feeling to a certain extent…,” she trailed off.

Then, she turned her head, her sad violet eyes searching Dany’s.

“What do you know about your father?”

Dany didn’t like the sound in her voice, but nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“My brother said he was a powerful King and beloved by all who knew him. Aegon doesn’t seem to think so…,” she trailed off.

“Let it word me so, dear child,” Lady Ashara said and wetted her lips. “Your father deserved his name…the Mad King. Rickard Stark and Brandon Stark were not exactly traitors, they were victims of his cruetly.”

“They threatened my brother’s life,” Dany countered. “That is what Viserys told me.”

“Brandon did,” Ashara said. “The brave and hot-headed fool he was. He thought his sister Lyanna raped when it was all a terrible misunderstanding…,” she trailed off.

“Raped?” Dany asked. “Viserys told me that Rhaegar died for the woman he loved. Was that another lie?”

“No, it was not,” Lady Ashara replied hesitatingly. “Rhaegar did love Lady Lyanna Stark. I was there when he wed her and the Lady Lyanna held my daughter after she was born. Those are happy and bitter memories.”

Dany didn’t know what to make of all this. It made no sense.

“My brother was wed to Lady Lyanna? What about is first wife?”

“He took Lyanna as his second wife…like the Targaryens of old,” Lady Ashara explained. “Even my brother thought it madness, but love is like a poison…a sweet poison. I know it well.”

Dany immediately understood the hidden meaning of her words and decided to let it go.

She had heard enough and she was glad Viserys was not here to hear it. He would just throw another tantrum that would embarrass her.

“Don’t tell these tales to Viserys,” Dany warned her kindly. “He would only misunderstand everything. And now let us begin with the lessons.”

“I won’t,” Lady Ashara promised. “No word shall leave my mouth.”

They spent the rest of the evening studying maps and repeating history Dany already knew. When they were done, Dany pulled a cloak around her shoulders and accompanied them downstairs to join her nephew, Magister Illyrio and Jon Connington.

What surprised her was that Viserys had also joined them. When she felt him glare at her she shuddered, though she knew that Jon Connington would have her brother sent back to his room if he tried to harm her again.

_I am the blood of the dragon_, she reminded herself and lifted her chin. _I am the blood of the dragon._

Viserys smile still made her shudder from head to toe. “You are rather late, sister.”

“I was studying,” she replied coldly and sat down at the table, Aegon’s purple gaze darting to her for a brief moment before he shifted his attention back to the roasted duck covered with white sauce and accompanied by vegetables. “What were you doing, brother?”

“Preparing our future,” Aegon added hesitatingly. Dany even noticed the slight blush creeping over his cheeks. Dany knew why. The last time they had spoken he had taken her maidenhead and had done so rather clumsily, something that surprised her. Aegon was a handsome young man, all graceful and silver-haired. His skin was darker than hers and it had a pretty golden gleam whenever the sunlight fell upon it, but the prettiest about him were his purple eyes, like Dany’s. “We cannot stay here. The usurper’s swords might come for us at any time.”

Dany didn’t have to be told to know that.

“Where will we go?” Dany asked, her gaze flickering from Jon Connington to Aegon.

She also felt Viserys’ glare burning into her back, but ignored him.

“Volantis,” Jon Connington said, his bright blue eyes darting to Magister Illyrio, who lay sprawled on a sofa, his fat belly spilling forth from his silken pink robe. Just looking at him made Dany want to strangle him, especially when he bared his yellow teeth. This man would have had no qualms to see her raped and defiled to serve his purpose. “We will have need of ships to sail forth to Westeros and we also need to meet with the Captains of the Golden Company.”

This was not the first time, she heard about the magister’s connections to the Golden Company, but that didn’t make it any better. Viserys seemed to feel the same, for he was clenching his teeth behind her and when Dany turned her head to look at her brother she saw that he is glowering at the magister.

“The Golden Company laughed at me when I came to ask for their help.”

“It is true,” Dany added her voice and flashed Aegon and accusing look. “I was only a little girl and remember their mockery all too well. Tell me, nephew. Why do we employ the help of Blackfyre supporters?”

“There are no Blackfyre’s anymore, Princess,” Magister Illyrio said sweetly. “These men are very eager to return home and more importantly, they are the most disciplined swellsword company there is.”

Dany was about to open her mouth to reply, but Aemon interrupted her.

“The magister speaks true. The Golden Company can win us the crown Aegon deserves. We have need of them.”

Dany knew it to be true, but that didn’t mean she liked to crawl in the dust before the men that had mocked her in the past.

“Very well,” Viserys said angrily. He was flexing his hand in rapid motions and his lilac eyes were red and glinted in a dangerous light. “We shall seek out these traitors, but I shall have them crawl in the dust for allowing them the privilege to serve me. I shan’t be disrespected again.”

Jon Connington sighed as he turned his head to look at Viserys.

“There really is no need for you to accompany us, Prince Viserys,” he said and jerked his head at Aegon. “We have a much more important task for you.”

Viserys’ lilac eyes were shining brightly as he lifted his head to look at Jon Connington.

“What task are you speaking of?”

“You will go to Dorne,” Aegon explained. “To visit my cousin. Ser Rolly and a honor guard shall accompany you. I am hoping you might take her as a wife. You wouldn’t be King but the future Prince of Dorne, a fine position to have.”

A thousand emotions seemed to play across her brother’s face.

“Your cousin?”

“Arianne Martell,” Aegon confirmed and smiled. “I heard she is very beautiful.”

Viserys nodded his head. “That is a beginning, but not enough. I shall not accept being pushed aside. I am your Uncle, no nobody. You will have need of my support if you want the crown. Bedding my sister won’t be enough.”

A hint of anger showed in Aegon’s eyes, but he remained polite.

“I told you before, Uncle. I have every intention to make up for my past failures. You shall have a place at my council, so much I can promise.”

“I won’t just sit on your council,” Viserys insisted and slammed his hand on the table before him. “I shall be your Hand. I deserve nothing less.”

Aegon said nothing at that and exchanged a quite look with Jon Connington, who exhaled deeply.

“We shall see to that once we have re-taken the throne,” Aegon said. “But now back to the topic at hand. We are going to Volantis by the end of the week while a ship awaits you to take you back to Dorne in three days from now. Is that suitable for you?”

Viserys looked unhappy with this answer, but it seemed he had learned his lesson, for he simply nodded his head and brought his cup to his lips.

“Very well,” her brother said, a strange smile playing on his lips. “I shall meet your beautiful cousin while you are gathering _our_ troops.”

Aegon seemed relieved by this answer and lifted his cup. “I toast to that, Uncle!”

“A toast!” Dany added quickly. She was just glad that Viserys would be out of her presence for some time. That would give her time to think. “A toast to the beautiful Princess of Dorne!”

“Your brother is really something,” Aegon remarked later after he had joined her in her chamber. “I hadn’t expected that my Uncle would be like this.”

“Like what?” Dany asked, fresh anger stirring up inside her. “Angry?”

“Mad,” Aegon said. “Your brother reminds me of his father…a vicious and prideful man.”

“He is my brother and your blood,” Dany said and rose from the bed. She still wore her robes, but her feet were bare. “I hold a grudge against him for trying to sell me, but all he did was done out of pure desperation. Mayhaps there would have been no necessity for all this if you hadn’t hidden away on this pole-boat of yours.”

Aegon said nothing and simply stepped closer, his purple gaze searching her face.

There was pain and a hint of frustration visible in his purple eyes.

“You hate me, don’t you?”

“I don’t hate you,” Dany said and meant it. “But that doesn’t mean I am not hurt by your actions. You wed me and I owe you for sparing me from a terrible fate, but as Viserys rightfully pointed out…you have need of my support and in exchange I expect something. All my life, Viserys blamed me for everything that went wrong in our lives and expected me to be obedient to him. I am done with that…You have to understand that.”

Aegon gave her a confused look. “What do you want me to do to make it up for you? Did my gifts not please you?”

“Your jewels and dresses mean nothing to me,” Dany replied. “I want a say in my life.”

Aegon nodded his head in understanding.

“I shall try my best…the truth is…I don’t understand much about girls. As you rightly pointed out…I spent too much time on my pole-boat,” he jested. “Perhaps there are things you can teach me.”

Dany was satisfied with that answer. It was the best thing he had told her since he had met her.

It also helped her to go through with her duties.

“Perhaps that is the case,” she said and pulled her dress over her head. “But more importantly…this won’t work if we don’t practice.”

Aegon swallowed hard and averted his gaze. His voice was trembling as he spoke. “I am not in the mood.”

Dany couldn’t help but to frown when she heard this. “You will need an heir…We are the only Targaryens left.”

Aegon lifted his head and looked again. “That may be, but I am uncomfortable bedding someone who dislikes me.”

With these words, he took her hand and lifted it to his lips. “Perhaps that too will change in the future.”

“Perhaps,” Dany replied skeptically and freed her hand from his grip, before she pulled her dress back over her shoulder. “But that won’t be easy.”

A hint of a smile played on his lips. “And perhaps much harder than re-taking the Seven Kingdoms.”

…


	12. Ned

**Ned**

Ned woke to the rattling of the door and was up in the matter of a heartbeat, his pulse racing beneath his chest. He was trembling from head to toe, his body drenched in sweat.

He rubbed his brow with the back of his hand, hoping to chase away the headache and the memories trying to overwhelm him.

He had dreamed of Lyanna.

_Promise me_, she had whispered to him, her stone eyes weeping blood. _Promise me_.

Ned knew it was a warning, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave now after all that had happened. The realm was falling apart beneath his hands and he was partly at fault due to his hesitance.

_I should have told Cat the truth_, he knew as he pulled himself out of his bed. His leg hurt at every movement and he had to clench his teeth when he thought of what was transpiring in the Riverlands.

He had sat the Iron Throne in the King’s absence and the dark tidings that had been brought before him had made his blood freeze.

Tywin Lannister and his dogs of war had been unleased upon the Riverlands like fire upon a heap of straw. Now everything in their way was being burned and women and children were being butchered like pigs.

_Damn Tywin_, Ned cursed and moved slowly towards the door, where Vayon Poole was already waiting for him. _Damn his bloody pride._

That he had hadn’t heard anything about Cat and Jon frightened him only more, but the sound of the voices outside his chamber distracted him from his racing mind.

Vayon Poole helped him dress and led him outside, where he found Tomard and Cayn, who were speaking to the King’s Steward.

The man’s unreadable dark eyes flickered immediately to Ned.

“My Lord Hand, “ he said. “ His Grace the King demands your presence…at once.”

Ned knew then that Robert had finally returned from his hunt.

“I shall be pleased to see him,” Ned replied politely. “But I need to dress.”

With these words he left to change into more fitting garments. As always, Vayon Poole helped him dress: a white linen tunic, a grey cloak of silk, cut off pants and his badge of office.

Vayon Poole accompanied him all the way to the inner baily, a fat moon laughing down at him.

The royal apartments were in Maegor’s Holdfast, a massive fortress that stood behind twelve feet thick walls and a dry moat lined with iron spikes.

Even from afar, Ned could see that Ser Boros Blunt was guarding the far end of the bridge, his polished armor glimmering brightly in the soft moonlight.

Inside, Ned passed more knights and two more members of the Kingsguard. There were Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Preston Greenfield.

As the oldest of two, Ser Barristan was guarding the door of the King’s bedchamber.

Ned only had to take a glimpse at Ser Barristan’s serious face to know that something was amiss.

“Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,” the Steward announced his presence.

“Bring him!” Robert’s pained voice called out to him from the darkness of the chamber.

Fires burned in the hearths, turning the air hot and suffocating.

Robert lay across a bed and next to his bedside hovered Grand Maester Pycelle while Lord Renly Baratheon was pacing up and down the room.

Servants were running back and forth, feeding logs to the greedy flames.

The Queen sat at the King’s bedside, her golden hair in disarray. Ned had intended to speak with her, but his heated talk with Princess Rhaenys had held him back.

Her words had stung deeply.

Yet, Roberts state shocked him even more.

He was still wearing his boots, mud and foliage clinging to the leather were Robert’s feet was poking forth from the blanket.

His bloody doublet lay on the ground, crusted with blood and other liquids.

The smell was nauseating, the air heavy with the smell of blood and death.

“Ned,” Robert whispered, his face as pale as fresh-fallen snow. “Come closer.”

Ned asked of Vayon Poole to lead him closer, but he was forced to lean against the bedpost to stand.

“What happened?”

“A boar,” Renly explained. “A boar struck my brother.”

“A true beast,” Robert grunted. “It was my fault…I had too much wine and I missed.”

“And where were the rest of you?” Ned asked Renly. “Where was Ser Barristan?”

Renly frowned. “My brother commanded us to stand aside and let him take on the boar. You know him…he is always up for a challenge.”

Ned knew Robert all too well and lifted the blanket.

He winced at the sight. The boar must have been a true monster. It had ripped Robert open from groin to nipple.

It was so bad, that the wine-soaked bandages were already black from the blood. Only the smell was worse: pungent and sweet at the same time.

Ned dropped the blanket quickly and shifted his attention back to Robert.

“It stinks,” Robert whispered. “It is the stink of death…At least, I paid the beast back.”

Robert’s smile was filled with pain. “I drove a knife right through his eyes.”

“True,” Renly added in a subdued voice. “ We even brought the carcass with us…at my brother’s command.”

“For the funeral feast,” Robert whispered and coughed. “And now leave us, brother…all of you. I need to speak alone with Ned.”

“Robert…,” the Queen cooed with false softness.

“I said leave!” he replied coldly. “Are you deaf, woman?”

All softness left the Queen in that moment and she quickly gathered her skirts before storming out of the chamber.

The Grand Maester must have also missed the King’s words, for he made no attempt to leave.

“The Milk of the Poppy,” he offered, but Robert pushed his hand away.

“Keep that brew away from me!” Robert snarled and sent the old man on his way.

“Why do you always have to be so stubborn?” Ned asked Robert as he sat down beside him. “He meant well.”

“Ah, fuck you, Ned!” Robert cursed. “At least I killed him…the boar I mean. They can’t even allow me to hunt in peace…The Mountain and Cersei…ugly business I have heard,” he added and clenched his teeth in agony. Then, his blue eyes widened. “Paper and ink. There on the table…please write what I tell you.”

Ned moved slowly as he took the quill and paper and spread it over his knee.

“What do you want me to write?”

Robert spoke slowly. “This is the will of Robert Baratheon…you know all the titles, you know how it goes. I do hereby command Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and the Hand of the King, to serve as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon…upon my death…to rule in my stead, until my son Joffrey comes of age.”

The last words stung hard.

_He is not your son_, he wanted to say, but his tongue was in knots.

“Robert,” Ned added, standing too close to the abyss, but in the last moment he stepped back. He saw the pain in Robert’s face and couldn’t bring himself to do it, even if they had long stopped being the brothers they had once been in the Vale. Thus, he changed Joffrey to _my heir_, but who this heir would be was still to be decided.

_Stannis_, he thought first and then _Aegon_, the words of the Princess coming back to him.

Had he been wrong in supporting Robert? Should he have refused to accept him as King and crowned Viserys instead?

He could have certainly done so or at least put pressure upon Robert and Jon.

Not that it mattered now, for this paper would give him all the power he needed to do right by the realm.

Joffrey, he knew could never be allowed to sit the Iron Throne and perhaps the only way was to call upon a Great Council.

“Ned,” Robert’s strained voice called him back to the present. “Ned.”

Ned lifted his head and searched his dark blue eyes.

“Is there something else you need to say?”

Robert laughed. “I was a bad King wasn’t I? Bad as Aerys…I know it well.”

Ned shuddered at these words.

“Not as cruel,” Ned assured him. “Never as cruel as him.”

“You will rule now,” Robert said and shuddered. “You will do right by me.”

Ned shook his head and could barely look at him. The lies burned like fire on his tongue.

“The seal should be witnessed.”

Robert laughed.

“Serve the boar at my funeral feast,” Robert jested and coughed blood. “_Promise me, Ned_.”

Ned shuddered and recalled Lyanna and his dream, Jon Snow and the Princess Rhaenys.

“Robert,” he said and swallowed hard. “Aegon Targaryen mustn’t die. I beg of you.”

Robert mustn’t have heard him, for he was suddenly speaking of Joffrey again.

“My son,” he whispered. “Make him better than me.”

Ned squeezed his shoulder and took his leave, the lies and the pain in his leg making it hard for him to think clearly.

As he left, the servants rushed back inside to tend to the flames.

At least, Cersei was gone and soon Renly and the Grand Maester returned to stand guard as the burning seal was pressed into the yellow wax.

After this, the Grand Maester fed Robert a cup of milk and shifted his attention back to Ned.

“Good,” Robert said, smiling softly. “I will give Lyanna your love.”

_She will curse you_, Ned thought bitterly and left his friend to find his peace. _And me as well._

When the Grand Maester came to him, Ned touched his shoulders and leaned closer.

“How long?”

“He should be dead,” the old man whispered softly. “He is clinging to life, but not long…not long.”

“My brother was always fierce,” Renly added. “Not the wisest, but always fierce.”

Ser Barristan greeted them outside the door, his blue eyes immediately seeking Ned’s.

“Grand Maester Pycelle gave the King milk of the poppy,” he informed Ser Barristan Selmy. “Make sure that nobody disturbs him.”

“I failed in my duty,” the old knight said softly, but Ned shook his head.

“Even the truest knight cannot protect his King from acts of foolishness,” Ned said. “No one could have known this boar would be Robert’s death.”

The old man nodded his head.

“You are kind to say so.”

Ser Barristan shrugged his shoulders. His pale cloak reminded Ned of a shroud.

“The King blamed the wine.”

“I wonder,” Lord Varys added suddenly. He was like a ghost that had appeared out of thin air. “Who gave the King the wine?”

“The wine was from the King’s skin,” Ser Barristan replied.

“One skin only?” Lord Varys asked in obvious surprise.

“I did not keep count,” Ser Barristan replied. “ The squire would only fetch a fresh one if it was required.”

“Such a dutiful boy,” Lord Varys added sweetly. “To make sure his Grace is well-supplied with his favorite liquid.”

Ned knew who he was referring to. Lancel Lannister, the kin of Tywin Lannister.

“I know the lad well,” Lord Varys confirmed. “Ser Kevan Lannister’s son, nephew to Lord Tywin and cousin to the Queen. I hope the boy does not blame himself too much.”

“Speaking of children,” Ned said, a sudden idea blooming in his mind. Robert had not given his outright agreement, but he hadn’t denied it either. “The King changed his mind regarding Aegon Targaryen. He wants it undone. He wants to die free from sin.”

“It is too late for that,” Lord Varys said and gave him a curious look. “But I will try my best.”

With these words and a swirl of lilac robes he was gone form Ned’s sight.

Ned took his leave from Ser Barristan, but Renly followed after him.

“Lord Eddard,” he said. “May we speak privately?”

Ned gave his consent. “In my apartments, if you please.”

Renly nodded his head and followed after him.

Once, his guardsmen had closed the door behind him, he shifted his attention back to Renly, who appeared strangely changed. He looked nervous and was flexing his hand in rapid motions.

“The letter,” Renly said rather abruptly. “Did my brother name you Lord Protector, didn’t he?”

Ned gave a confirming nod. There was no reason to hide the truth.

“He did.”

Renly smiled suddenly, his blue eyes shining in a dangerous light.

Ned knew it. _Ambition._

“Give me an hour, my Lord and I shall give you a hundred swords.”

Ned shouldn’t have been surprised. Renly he was not different than the other courtiers. Quick to strike when an opportunity arose.

“Swords for what?”

“To take control of the royal children,” Renly said quietly. “We must get Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen away from their mother. Then, we can confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward.”

Ned felt disgust. His brother was barely dead and was already conspiring.

_You are not better. You are also a traitor._

Suddenly, another, more dangerous thought entered his mind. Yet, what choice did he have? Robert was dying and even his will wouldn’t give him the swords he would need. He could go to Littlefinger, but he neither liked nor trusted he man after everything that had happened. Renly was a snake like the others, but he was at least of Robert’s blood.

“Tell me,” Ned said and searched the young man’s face. “What would you say if I told you that the King’s children are not born from his seed?”

Ned read surprise in his dark blue eyes, but no shock.

“I had my suspicions,” Renly admitted with a confirming nod. “And I suppose Stannis had them as well. Perhaps that is why he is hiding away at Dragonstone and conspiring with his Red Witch.”

This was the first time Ned had heard about a Red Witch.

“Who is this Red Witch you speak of?”

“A woman from Asshai,” Renly said. “She is telling my brother that he is some prophesied hero. I think Stannis just uses that as an excuse to fuck her. She is much prettier than his sour-faced wife.”

Ned shook his head in disbelief. A man who wanted to abolish brothels, wouldn’t bed some foreign woman.

“If the royal children are bastards, Stannis is the_ rightful_ heir.”

“_Rightful _maybe,” Renly said and chuckled lightly. “But good for the Realm? Stannis has not many friends at court nor will ever have them if he continues to act like in the past. If you reveal this _truth_, there will be war and not everyone will stand with _you_ in this matter. Dorne might use the moment to raise their spears against us, Tywin will burn the entire Seven Kingdoms if it means to keep his grandson on the throne and the Reach…the Reach will never accept a Florent Queen or for that matter my brother’s Red Witch as his advisor.”

Ned couldn’t believe his ears.

“You said _you_, but why not _us?_ Just a moment ago you were offering me swords to take hold of the royal children.”

“I did,” Renly confirmed. “And I still do wish to help you, but I will not stand with Stannis. My brother and I never held much love for each other and I see no good in putting him on the throne.”

“He is your brother,” Ned reminded him of his blood-relation, but saw no hint of emotion in his eyes. “And given that he has no living son, you would be his _natural _heir.”

“Having the same blood means nothing,” Renly replied almost coldly. “And it could be years before I can succeed Stannis on the throne. Years of war and rebellion if my brother were to stake his claim. It is true that Stannis and I share the same blood, but there is no love between us. Robert and I, we had our differences, but he always valued me and thus I owe it to him to put a _good_ King on the throne. Stannis is no such King.”

“He is_ older_,” Ned reminded him and clenched his teeth against the sudden pain in his leg. “It is the law.”

“The law says a lot of things,” Renly countered. “The law made Aerys the rightful King and you and Robert toppled him. Who says I cannot do the same? Unlike, Stannis, I have many friends in the Reach. I think you are understanding the meaning of my words, Lord Hand. Support me and I shall be a_ good_ King.”

Ned shook his head in disbelief.

“Tis is treason,” Ned said and turned away, his mind a storm of confusion. Perhaps, Renly was right, though. Princess Rhaenys came back to his mind and Aegon Targaryen. Alone, Ned could not hope to hold the realm together. Perhaps…there was an even better solution for their problem, even if it reeked of treason. “But you are right. The Reach would pose a problem.”

Renly’s eyes glittered brightly, like a lake drenched in sunlight.

“What does that mean?”

“That I am thinking about your offer,” Ned replied. He felt only disgust. At himself and at the young man in front of him . “But only if you are prepared to consider a compromise.”

“I may,” Renly said hesitatingly. “But first I want to hear about this compromise.”

“You mentioned Dorne,” Ned said and wetted is lips. “Even if we get the Reach on our side, Dorne would still pose a problem, but I think there might be a way to keep this pretender Aegon Targaryen away from the throne. It is all too clear what needs to be done: you must wed Princess Rhaenys.”

Renly’s eyes widened. He read confusion and conflict quarreling with each other.

“Mace Tyrell would never help us without a reward. He wants to see Margaery on the Iron Throne.”

“Then, we will have to convince him,” Ned returned. “Perhaps a seat on the King’s council might be appropriate?”

Renly nodded his head. “It is possible…and I do not mind Princess Rhaenys. She is a quiet and obedient girl. And Lord Mace was also a former Targaryen loyalist. He will be disappointed, but then he is also afraid of the Florent woman.”

_And quite hot-tempered_, Ned thought. _You might be surprised._

“But that is not all.”

“What else?” Renly asked in obvious displeasure.

“You must spare the Targaryen boy…Aegon Targaryen. No, assassins and no murder,” Ned added. “Do you understand?”

Renly’s face fell.

“What is it with you and the Targaryens, Stark? Why do you even think this boy is the real Aegon?”

“I do not know if he is the real Aegon, but think of your bride. What will she think if you kill a boy that might be her brother?”

“He is _not_ her brother,” Renly insisted firmly. He looked almost like Robert had when Tywin had presented the bloodied corpse of Rhaegar’s _supposed _son to him. _The False Prince_. “He is a Pretender and he, Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys must die. Ah, I see now…My brother never really pardoned them, didn’t he? That was a lie, wasn’t it?”

Ned frowned.

“He did,” he lied again. “He wanted to leave the world in peace.”

Strangely, this lie hurt much less than he had anticipated.

“And now back to the topic at hand,” Ned added anxiously. “Tell me, do you accept my conditions?”

Renly looked unsure and brushed his hand through his hair.

“I must consult my friends,” Renly declared at last. “I shall send for you _soon_ if it pleases you?”

Ned was disappointed, but it was better than nothing. “I shall wait for your answer.”

“I shall,” Renly said, dipped his head and left shortly after.

Ned sighed deeply when he fell back into his chair and called Vayon Poole to his side.

“Take this to Dragonstone,” Ned told Tomard and handed him the letter he had written only moments ago. He couldn’t give Stannis his support, but he deserved a fair warning. Ned had already compromised his honor too much in this matter. In truth, he had only done it because of the Princess Rhaenys’ hard words and Lyanna’s ghost tormenting him every night. “And give this letter to no other than Stannis Baratheon.”

When this was done, he poured himself a cup of wine and called upon the Septa.

“Where are my daughters?” he asked Septa Mordane.

“Lady Arya is taking a long-needed bath,” Septa Mordane said. “And Lady Sansa broke her fast in company of the Queen, but she is now back in her chamber.”

Ned sighed. His last quarrel with the girl lay heavy on his heart.

“I need to rest. Make sure that the girls take their meal and behave.”

“I shall see to it, my Lord,” Septa Mordane promised and Ned returned to his bed to rest.

Ned knew that he could have scarcely slept more than a handful of hours when he rose from his slumber.

The sun stood high on the sky. It was midday.

Yet, it was not the bright sunlight falling through the narrowed windows that had woken him from his slumber, but the tolling of the bells. Loud and strong they roared, like Robert when he had slain Prince Rhaegar at the Trident or on the day King’s Landing had fallen to the Lannisters.

The sound alone was enough to make Ned shudder, but now was not the time to dwell on the terrors of the past, but to look into the future.

“Are you feeling better, my Lord?” asked Vayon Poole, who was helping Ned dress.

“I am well,” Ned assured him, though the contrary was the case. His leg was burning and Renly had not send for him. “How long have I slept? Where are my daughters? Has Lord Renly returned?”

“They are eating in company of the Septa,” Vayon Poole replied. “You should finally tell them about your intentions, my Lord.”

With these intentions, his loyal steward meant to inform his daughters that he and the girls would soon travel back North.

“I shall do so at once,” Ned promised and fastened the silken cloak around his shoulder. Then, he leaned on Vayon Poole’s arm and was led down to the solar, where he found his daughters and the Septa.

When he entered, he could hear Arya’s shouts echoing through the round chamber.

“My Dancing Master is not stupid!” she spat at Sansa, who was seated across her younger sister. “You are stupid!”

His oldest daughter’s face was flushed and the Septa was holding tight unto the girls’ shoulders, trying her best to keep them apart.

“This is disgrace!” she shouted at Arya. “You are behaving like a wild beast!”

“Mayhaps I am one!” Arya snapped back angrily, but fell immediately silent when she noticed Ned’s presence.

Sansa and the Septa followed suit, the elderly woman dipping her head in reverence and Sansa averting her gaze in a manner that betrayed she was embarrassed about something.

“I don’t think so,” Ned said with a heavy sigh and patted Arya’s hair. “You do not look like a wild beast, sweetling, though your mob of a hair might give this impression at times.”

Then, he turned his attention back to Sansa. His heart ached when he recalled how they had parted last time and had hoped she would have returned to her old self by now. “Still, it is not right of you to call your sister, stupid.”

Sansa lifted her gaze ever hesitatingly and nodded her head in solemn silence. Not even the hint of a smile showed on her lips. “May I leave, father?”

“Not yet,” Ned asked of her and noticed that neither Arya nor Sansa had touched their soups or the bread that was laid out next to their plates. “I must speak with you two. Would you please leave us for a moment, Septa Mordane?”

The elderly lady, who had watched the scene from the sidelines, dipped her head and left them immediately.

Only when she had closed the door behind her, did Ned speak.

“I know you are both enjoying your time here, but for your safety I am going to send you both back to the North.”

Arya’s eyes widened in shock.

“Does that mean I am not going to be able to take dancing lessons anymore?” was the first thing that left her mouth.

“Who cares about your stupid dancing lessons,” Sansa muttered quietly and within the blink of a moment Arya was pulling on her hair, making Sansa scream at the top of her lungs.

Ned sucked in a deep breath, as he pulled the two girls apart.

“What has gotten into you two?” he asked, being slightly disturbed by this explosion of anger. “When have you forgotten how to behave?”

“She started it!” Arya accused, but finally let go of Sansa’s hair. She sat down in her chair and crossed her arms in front of her.

“And you,” Ned addressed Sansa. “You cannot do as you please like in Winterfell, where everyone will forgive you every slight, but this is King’s Landing…The way you behaved towards the Princess Rhaenys was unseemly and now you are riling up your sister at every turn. Why is that?”

When Sansa didn’t answer at once, Ned raised his voice a little and she finally lifted her head to look at him.

“Nothing, father,” she said, her blue eyes distant and her voice muted. “May I leave?”

Ned knew that there was no sense in discussing the matter when Sansa was like this.

“Very well,” Ned told her. “You may leave.”

“Thank you,” Sansa said and left.

Only Arya remained sitting, her glassy grey eyes searching his gaze with a mixture of hope and fear.

“Do I really have to leave?”

“Aye,” Ned replied firmly and knelt down to touch Arya’s shoulder. “I know that you have taken a liking to your dancing master and mayhaps I can convince him to join me when I return to Winterfell, but for now you must be reasonable.”

“And you are not lying to me, father?” Arya asked skeptically.

Ned was surprised to hear such strange notions from his daughter’s mouth. “You think I would lie to you?”

“Sansa says you are lying all the time and other stupid things…she also said that Jon is a traitor,” Arya replied angrily. “Well, I told her she is stupid, but she wouldn’t listen. Well, I won’t call her stupid anymore if I can keep my dancing master…I promise!”

Ned was taken back by this revelation. “What exactly did Sansa say?”

Arya frowned and pondered his question before giving her answer.

“I can’t remember all of it….I hardly listen when Sansa opens her mouth. Most of it is just boring or stupid.”

Ned shook his head in disbelief. Sansa was beginning to worry him and it only confirmed his decision.

_It will be good for the girl to be back in Winterfell._

“Stop talking so harshly about your sister,” Ned told Arya chidlingly and placed a kiss on her brow. “She is the only sister you have.”

Arya’s gaze softened at once.

“I shall try,” she said and searched his gaze. “But Sansa is lying too, isn’t she? Jon is not a traitor?”

Ned was about to open his mouth, when he heard a knock at the door.

He turned around and a moment later the door opened.

It was Ser Boros Blunt and a dozen of gold cloaks that came bursting into the room, followed by Vayon Poole and a confused Porther, one of the two guards that had been placed outside. 

Ned was confused by their presence and tried his best not to flinch when he tried to stand upright.

“What is the meaning of this rude entrance?”

Ser Boros Blunt gave a curt nod and pulled off his helmet. Then, he spoke in a booming voice.

“I am her on orders of King Joffrey…and the Queen Mother. You are accused of treason against your King!”

Ned tried to remain calm. Arya was already on her feet, her teeth clenched as she glared at the man. She was close to shouting, so much Ned could tell, but he covered her mouth and heled her back.

“On what accounts?”

“Someone put accusations against you, Lord Hand,” the knight explained. “A very reliable witness….your daughter…Lady Sansa Stark.”

…


	13. Robb

**Robb**

Robb forced a smile over his lips as he noticed his mother’s presence at the entrance of his dwelling place, the Gatehouse Tower, one of the few habitable towers in the ruin that had once been Moat Cailin.

Now it was nothing more than a ruin of scattered blocks of black basalt, each as large as a crofter’s cottage. The wooden keep was entirely gone as well, rotting away a thousand years past. Truly, that was all that was left of the once mighty stronghold of the First Men. Three towers, where once had been nearly twenty of them.

Even so, his father had told him more than once that this castle was impossible to take, for the three surviving towers oversaw the small causeway that an enemy would have to pass if it wanted to enter the lands of the North. Not only that, but the enemy would also have to wade through waist-deep muck, across a moat full of lizard-lions and expose themselves to the fire of arrows that could easily unleashed from atop the towers.

“I am pleased to see hale, mother,” Robb said when his mother smiled at him. It was a hopeful smile, but a smile couldn’t return: The taking of Tyrion was one thing, but the absence of his brother filled him with fear. “Where is my brother?”

His mother paled visibly and sucked in a deep breath, her blue eyes darting to the man beside her. He had grey hair and a weather-worn face, but his bright blue eyes betrayed their kinship. This must be the Blackfish.

“Your brothers are at Winterfell,” his mother replied quietly, the lords in his presence, watching them with a mixture of curiosity and discomfort.

“Jon is my brother too, mother,” Robb reminded her gently. He didn’t want to fight in front of his bannermen. “Where is he?”

“The boy took the dwarf back to King’s Landing and was accompanied by two sons of the Vale a proper escort,” his Gran-Uncle replied and furrowed his brows in displeasure. “Your mother went through hell and back. You ought to show more understanding.”

“I understand that you took Tyrion Lannister as your prisoner?” Robb asked instead and searched his mother’s face. “And Jon… based on what accusations if I may ask?”

His mother bit her lips and stepped closer.

“Robb,” she began, but Robb shook his head. He was no longer a little boy, but the Lord of Winterfell in his father’s absence.

“Lord Robb,” he corrected her firmly, but not without gentleness. “And you have yet to answer my question…,” he trailed off.

“Your mother found the boy in company of the dwarf. It is understandable that she came to this conclusion. As it turned out, he was innocent after all,” the Blackfish added, which prompted Robb to look at him.

“Understandable?” Robb asked in utter disbelief. “I know that you have no reason to like my brother, but Jon would never think of harming Bran or anyone in our family.”

Then, he looked back at his mother. “Tell me true, mother. Did you really think Jon would harm Bran?”

His mother looked as if he had poured a bucket of cold water over her head.

“He is not my son,” his mother replied stiffly. “You know how I feel about him.”

“I do,” Robb confirmed and felt as if his heart was being torn apart. Choosing between his brother and his mother was not something he ever expected to do. “But that gave you no right to take my brother captive. One of father’s men reached our host two days ago and told me that father is most displeased with your actions. He also told me that he never gave you leave to take Tyrion Lannister prisoner. What were you thinking, mother?”

His mother said nothing and the Blackfish grimaced.

“She was trying to see justice…,” he began, but Robb cut him off.

“She started a bloody war,” Robb said, unable to hold himself back. “Half the Riverlands are burning. Thousands have died and I do not wish to know how many more will die when Lord Tywin is done with his butchery. And that is not the only thing that should bother you. Father has been imprisoned on accusations of treason.”

His mother said nothing and the men around him remained equally silent.

Robb knew then that he had overstepped his bounds when he saw the pained expression on his mother’s face.

“I heard of it,” his mother said and leaned on the table, where he had laid out a colorful map. “Which is why I came here…to offer my help.”

Robb sighed deeply and waved his hand at the men assembled in the room. He could no longer ignore their presence.

“I am sure you remember, the Greatjon Umber, Lord Glover, Lord Tallhart and of course…Lord Bolton.”

Each man dipped his head and gave his greeting, safe for Lord Roose Bolton, who came straight to the point.

“A question, if it pleases you, my Lady.”

His mother nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Please ask away, Lord Bolton.”

“Why did you let the dwarf go, my Lady?”

“I was not any more pleased to see him go,” his mother forced the words over her lips. “But he named a capable champion and won his freedom. I had to let him go.”

“And Jon?” Robb asked hesitatingly. “You said you sent him to King’s Landing?”

“The boy is well,” the Blackfish answered for his mother. “He was accompanied by Ser Andar Royce, Ser Jon Redfort and a generous escort. I am sure Ser Andar Royce turned back when he heard of Lord Stark’s imprisonment and we will soon hear of them.”

Robb wanted to believe him, but would feel more at ease if Jon was here with him. He had Theon, but that was not the same.

“Very well,” Robb said and jerked his head at his Grand-Uncle and Lords. “I thank you for your council, but I need to speak alone with my mother.”

They all left moments later, even the Blackfish, who had openly glared at him in passing.

Robb was dismayed by that. It was quite clear that he had left a bad impression on his Grand-Uncle.

“Forgive me for being so harsh with you, mother,” Robb said at last. “But I still cannot believe that you took Jon prisoner.”

His mother sat down, her blue eyes still filled with tears and anger.

“I do not wish to speak about this personal matter with you, Robb. This topic solely concerns your father and me.”

“On the contrary,” Robb insisted. “This concerns us all. Jon will _always_ be my brother and when I see him again, I shall welcome him back. He will sit at my council and I shall make him a lord and give him the daughter of one of my bannermen as a bride. Father should have done this…it seems I have to correct his mistakes.”

His mother’s face looked as if all blood had been drained out of her head.

“Robb,” she said in a trembling voice. “You cannot allow this boy to have…his children could pose a danger..,” she began, but Robb cut her off.

“Jon’s children will grow up with mine, as it is supposed to be,” Robb said and leaned forward. “Believe me, I understand your pain, dear mother, but if you cannot bear to stay in the same place as my brother, you are welcome to stay in Riverrun to gain some clarity on the matter once I have retaken it from Lannister hands.”

“You would send me away?” she asked. “For the bastard?”

“For my brother,” Robb insisted firmly. “And no, I do not intend to send you away. I intend to make you accept the reality at hand.”

“Your father…,” she began, but Robb shook his head.

“Might lose his head,” Robb replied. “That is if we don’t save him. At least, on that we can agree, don’t we, mother?”

“On that we can agree,” she said with a weary look. “What is your plan? Will you fight yourself or ask one of your noble lords to fight for you?”

This question was easy to answer, although the coming battle frightened him.

“They are not Starks. I shall fight my own battles.”

“A year ago you were still fighting with wooden sticks,” his mother countered softly.

“I know,” Robb replied. “But I must fight my own battles if I hope to gain the respect of father’s bannermen.”

“So much his true,” his mother agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I like it. You are my firstborn, Robb. I have only to look at you to remember the day you came into the world, all red-faced and squalling.”

His heart softened when he heard this, but now was not the time for such displays weakness.

“Back to the topic at hand,” Robb replied and batted Greywind’s head, who lay curled beneath his feet. “I received a letter. From Sansa or better said the Queen. They have our sisters.”

“And your father,” his mother reminded him.

“Aye,” Robb agreed and leaned on his balled fist. “What about Aunt Lysa? I wrote a letter to her, asking for help. Has she called her banners yet?”

“I have only one man, your Grand-Uncle.”

Robb hadn’t expected that. It was a hard blow and he tried his best to hide his disappointment.

“Less than a fortnight past, they fought a battle in the hills below the Golden Tooth,” Robb explained. “ Uncle Edmure had sent Lord Vance and Lord Piper to hold the pass, but the Kingslayer descended upon them and defeated them. Lord Vance was slain and the last I heard was that Lord Piper was falling back to join Uncle Edmure and his bannermen at Riverrun. And while they were battling in the pass, Lord Tywin was bringing a second army from the south. They say it is even larger than the Kingslayer’s host.”

“Father must have also heard of it, for he sent out men to oppose them. He gave command to some southron lord and added his guardsmen to their numbers. Yet, it turned out to be a trap. The moment they crossed the Red Fork, the Lannisters fell upon him and Ser Gregor Clegane attacked them in the rear as they tried to pull back over the Mummer’s Ford. A few escaped or so I heard. Lord Tywin has also closed off the Kingsroad and is now marching towards Harrenhall.”

“And you mean to fight him?” his mother asked fearfully.

“I don’t think he will get here,” Robb explained. “I sent word to Howland Reed. If the Lannisters try marching up the Neck, the crannogmen will bleed them out. I think it is best if we march south to meet him in battle.”

“Is that wise?” his mother asked. Robb saw the doubt shining in her blue eyes. “Lord Tywin is a dangerous man.”

“Perhaps not, but our food supplies are running low,” Robb voiced his doubts. “Well, the Greatjon thinks we should take the battle to Lord Tywin and surprise him. But the Glovers and Karstarks think it would be wiser to round up with Uncle Edmure and fight against the Kingslayer.”

Then, he paused and pointed at the map. “I don’t like either of these plans. Instead I intend to leave a small host at Moat Cailin, archers mostly and march the rest down the causeway, but once we are below the Neck I shall cut my host into two. The footmen will continue down the Kingsroad while our horsemen will cross the Green Fork at the Twins. Lord Tywin will surely march North when he hears of this, which will leave our riders free reign to march to Riverrun.”

His mother frowned at the map. “You mean to put a river between two parts of the army.”

“And between the Kingslayer and Lord Tywin,” Robb added. He was angry with his mother, but he still longed for her approval. “There is no crossing at the Green Fork above the ruby ford, not until the Twins and it is Lord Walder Frey who controls that bridge. He is your father’s bannerman. Surely, he will let us pass?”

My mother shook her head. “My father never trusted him and neither did I.”

“I shall keep that in mind,” Robb replied wistfully. “But that is my plan.”

“Which men will you command?” his mother prodded further.

“The horsemen,” he replied. “And Lord Bolton the host.”

His mother furrowed her brows.

“Why him?”

“I want to keep him far away from me.”

His mother’s frown only deepened.

“Are you hoping that he will perish in the fight?”

Robb shook his head.

“I would never wish death about another man. You should know that, mother. But would it be such a bad thing?”

“No,” his mother replied. “But your father would not agree with it.”

“Perhaps not,” Robb replied and searched his mother’s face. “I also think you should home until I have retaken Riverrun, mother.”

His mother gave him a startled look.

“My father is dying and my brother is surrounded by his enemies. I will go once I know that they are well.”

Robb didn’t want to admit it, but she had a point.

He was still angry with his mother, but she knew the Riverlords better than him. He could ask the Blackfish, but given the dark looks he had given him earlier, he would probably tell him to ask for his mother’s help instead.

“Very well.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really happy with this chap, but well. I think it will take me a bit more time to find Robb's voice.


	14. Jon

**Jon**

The road had proven dangerous and long. One day, they had taken shelter beneath a patch of trees that were kissing each other above their heads and on another day they had been sleeping beside a small stream that was as blue as the sky above.

Now they were finally one their way towards the Inn at the Crossroads.

They could have easily avoided such a perilous travel if Lady Lysa hadn’t forced them away from the Eyrie within the matter of a day.

Ser Andar Royce and Ser Redfort Royce had at least been able to provide them with enough men make this perilous travel. Ser Andar Royce had had brought fifteen men and Ser Redfort ten and with Tyrion the sellsword Bronn, they were in total twenty-eight swords strong.

Jon had not spoken to Lady Stark, but had taken his leave from Ser Roderik, who had come to see him on the morning of his departure. The Knight had been grim and pale, but then he had unsheathed his blade in a rather no-nonsense kind of manner and had knighted him.

There had been no grand ceremony and not even a vigil, but that was only right, Jon supposed. A bastard had no right to such things, though now he was no longer Jon Snow, but Ser Jon of the Vale. It sounded much better than _Snow_, but it changed not much about his situation.

All he knew was that he had no intention to go back to the Night’s Watch, regardless what his father would tell him.

_Perhaps father will change his mind and allow me to stay in King’s Landing_, Jon thought and stirred the flames with a twig. _I am still a bastard, but a knight…a knight without lands or titles._

“Leave the flames be, boy,” Bronn remarked and spit unto the ground before Jon’s boots. “They will not grow higher by your constant prodding.”

Jon lifted his head and looked at the sellsword’s face. It was scarred, but not ugly. Jon doubted the man had need of ugly whores to keep his bed warm.

Jon had yet to make up his mind towards the man.

He could be rather amusing, like Lord Tyrion, but on other days he was a just a pain in the ass, like Theon.

That Ghost had yet to returned, irked Jon even more. They had left the Bloody Gate behind them and Jon dreamed often enough of his loyal beast, but he had yet to find his way back to him.

_Perhaps he found himself a pretty bitch_, Jon mused and flashed the sellsword a wry smile.

“And you ought to keep your spittle inside. You are going to drench the flames.”

“No flames would be even better,” Bronn complained. “We have left the Vale behind us, but there are still enemies lurking on these roads.”

Jon agreed with that, but it had been so long since he had last had a proper fire.

“We were in dire need of one,” Tyrion added and shuddered beneath his cloak.

It was night and rather chilly. For Jon the weather was almost pleasant.

The Vale knights didn’t seem to mind the weather either. They sat around in small groups and were tending to their own business. Some were nibbling on their rations of dried meat and others were drinking mulled wine over a game of cards. Their whispering was soft and filled with laughter.

“It is going to rain,” Ser Andar Royce said suddenly and took a bite from the meat he had roasted over the cookfire. He was a strongly-built man and at least ten years older than Jon, but had rather childish kind of humor that made him appear like a cheerful boy. “I can smell it.”

Ser Jon Redfort, who was more serious in nature, frowned at that. “How can you smell rain, Royce?”

“It smells different,” Royce insisted and smiled at Jon Snow. “My father told me that you can also smell the coming of a snowstorm. It says the air smells icy when snow is coming.”

Jon had never heard of that, but played along.

“I suppose there is a certain truth to that.”

Bronn chuckled at that. “And my old grandma told everyone that can foretell the future.”

“And my Uncle thought me how to haggle and make summersaults,” Tyrion added through clattering teeth, his stubby hands too close to the greedy flames. “Is that an ability you deem worthy, Royce?”

Royce frowned at that. “For a fool maybe, Lord Lannister. And I do not like it when someone is mocking me.”

“Far is it from me to do such a thing,” Tyrion replied and bared his teeth. “A Lannister would know how proud a man from House Royce can be.”

“Tyrion likes to jest,” Jon added carefully. “Do not take him too seriously.”

Ser Andar Royce’s bushy eyebrows rose to the top of his head as straightened himself to his full height. “He reminds me a little bit of my sister. She is always vexing me…like my brother Waymar, but he is most likely dead.”

Jon’s attention was roused by this. He recalled Waymar Royce well. He had joined the Night’s Watch voluntarily. He too had been driven by honor and glory, but had supposedly died beyond the Wall.

“Your brother was a brave man,” Jon told him. “And better than me.”

“My brother was a bloody fool,” Ser Andar Royce retorted. “He could have become a member of the Kingsguard or a famed knight, but he threw away his life, because some silly singer told him stories about the Wall. You made the right choice in leaving or you would have ended up like my brother.”

Jon was surprised to hear that, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound coming out of it.

When he finally found some words, Ser Andar Royce had already gone back to his men.

Ser Jon Royce spoke then, his blue eyes serious and calm like the surface of a lake.

“My brother is one of the best swords of he Vale. He was better than you in skill, but he lost because he does not understand that a true enemy won’t ever play fair. In a real battle winning is the only goal, no matter the means. You gave my brother a valuable lesson.”

Jon didn’t know what to say to that either. It had also been so sudden, for thee man hadn’t spoken a single word to him since they had left the Vale. At first, Jon had even thought he was holding a grudge against him for defeating his brother, but it seemed that was a false assumption.

“Is that why you came with us, good Ser?”

Jon Redfort nodded head in confirmation. “Exactly, I came because I owe you a debt, Ser Jon. You spared my brother.”

With these words, he left Jon in company of his strange companions, one a dwarf and the other a sellsword.

“Where I come from people would have laughed at you for sparing your enemy,” Bronn added sarcastically and pulled his dagger out of its sheath. The blade gleamed brightly, like molten silver. “You have a soft heart. Do you know what they say about people with a too soft heart?”

Jon brushed his brown hair out of his face and tried to appear unimpressed.

“What do they say?”

“They die young…these men with soft hearts,” Bronn replied, gaze piercing. He grinned as he jerked his head at Tyrion. “That is why I follow a different kind of philosophy.”

“And that would be?” Jon asked, though he held no interest in Bronn’s wisdoms.

“Only to help those who are willing to pay me enough…like our golden dwarf here.”

Jon shouldn’t have been surprised that Tyrion had bribed the swellsword.

Perhaps Jon should become one of them. It was a tempting idea, but still far away, beyond the Inn at the Crossroads that way only half a day away.

“One philosophy to live by,” Jon said and shrugged his shoulders.

“You have another,” Tyrion added wistfully. “Honor is driving you. Your father’s philosophy.”

The mention of his father soured Jon’s mood.

“A bastard has no honor. You know what the faith says.”

“And a dwarf even less,” Tyrion chuckled bitterly. “Or did you forget the words I gave you during your first meeting?”

“All dwarfs are bastards in their father’s eyes,” Jon repeated. “And now I am knight. Even so, I will never be like _them_.”

“And do you have to be?” Tyrion asked.

“I agree with the dwarf on this matter,” the sellsword added almost cheerfully. “The Faith is a load of bullshit. You grew up in some fancy castle, didn’t you? Well, I grew up in an ugly shovel. This one here grew up even fancier than us, but even so I am glad not to be like him. I rather be the son of a whore than some twisted little dwarf.”

Tyrion’s strange eyes sparkled with a hint of bitterness and amusement, his lips twisting up into another smile.

“I am not that different from you,” Tyrion admitted in a sinister tone. “I was once married…to a crofter’s daughter…probably another bastard.”

Jon hadn’t expected such an answer and even the sellsword’s smile had faded into nothingness in the matter of a heartbeat.

“Your father allowed you to wed a crofter’s daughter?” Jon asked in disbelief. “What happened to her?”

Tyrion said nothing and started to hum a sweet song, foreign words spilling from his mouth.

“The seasons of my love…she used to sing it for me” Tyrion explained, his eyes glassy. “I met her on a night like this. Jaime and I were riding back from Lannisport when we heard a scream and she came running out on the road with two men behind her, shouting threats. My brother unsheathed his mighty blade while I dismounted to protect the girl. She was barely a year older than me, slender in build and dark-haired, with a kissable face. Still, she was unwashed and lowborn…yet so lovey to behold. They had torn off the rags she had been wearing and I wrapped my cloak around her while Jaime chased away the men. She had been orphaned a year ago and had no one…No, one but me.”

It sounded like a tale from Sansa’ songs, but Jon felt that there was a sinister ending ahead.

“And then you married her?”

“The girl was frightened to go alone and thus I offered to take her to the closest inn and fed her while my brother rode back to the Rock for help. She was hungry and oh so lovely to behold. I suppose it went to my head and the next moment I was sharing her bed. When we had done it the first time, she sang me a pretty song and kissed me and by morning I was in love. The rest you know.”

“You married her,” Bronn voiced in obvious amusement.

“It is absurd, isn’t?” Tyrion asked and began to hum the song once more. “Well, it is not like I settled her in Casterly Rock. I set her up in a cottage of your own and for a fortnight we played man and wife. And by then the Septon had sobered and had told the tale to my father. That was the end of my marriage.”

“How so?” Jon asked, a terrible chill washing over him in that moment. “A consummated marriage cannot be annulled. Even, I know that.”

“So, what did your father do?” Bronn prodded, though Jon didn’t want to know it. Tyrion Lannister’s cruelty was known far and wide. “Send her on her way?”

“No,” Tyrion said and averted his gaze. “My father forced Jaime to tell me the bitter truth. The girl was a whore and my brother had set up our meeting. He paid double for my maiden, a generous gift.”

“And then?” Bronn asked while Jon remained silent, anger stirring inside his chest. _My mother might have been a whore like this one…_

“My father gave her to his guards. They paid her fair enough, a silver for each man. By the end she had earned so many a silver coin, they were rolling on the floor…at last father made me do it…I paid her in gold, because according to my father, a Lannister was worth more than a silver coin.”

Jon felt only disgust , something he had not expected, but he couldn’t help it.

He had known what kind of a man Tywin Lannister was, but who would do something vile like this?

Bronn just shook his head and began to sharpen his blade.

“I would have killed the man who did this to me.”

In that moment, Tyrion had turned to look at Jon, who was clenching his teeth, his jaw as tight as a bowstring.

“Why did you go along with it?” Jon asked him.

It was the only question that came to his mind.

Tyrion gave him a twisted smile. “My father wouldn’t have a accepted a ‘No’.”

Jon nodded his head. “And the girl? Do you feel no pity for her?”

Tyrion gave him a strange look. He saw pain and doubt. “She was a whore and she lied to me.”

“Whore or not,” Jon said, hot boiling anger rising up inside him. “No one ought to treat another person like that. I am only a bastard, but I would have rather died than to dishonor my self in such a manner.”

Then, Jon rose to his feet and left them. He moved towards an oak tree and leaned his shoulder against the tree before he sank to the ground.

It wasn’t like he hated Tyrion. He was certainly disgusted with him, but that was not the real reason for his anger.

The real reason was his mother, his faceless mother…

Tyrion’s story made him wonder if his mother had been like the girl in the tale…

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Tyron’s soft voice caused him to turn around. “I just felt it was something I could share with friends.”

Jon wasn’t sure what the dwarf was to him.

“I do not hate you, if you think that. Everyone is responsible for his own actions. It is just…,” Jon began and fell silent, as he tried to clear his thoughts. “Why would you still serve a man like your father?”

“Because there is no one who would have use for someone like me,” Tyrion replied.

Jon hadn’t answered and went back to sleep, his cloak wrapped around him.

That night, Jon dreamed he was a wolf, prowling through the woods and feasting upon a fallen stag. The flesh was still warm and when he woke his mouth was filled with blood.

It had been a rather unpleasant way to be woken, for Ser Redfort had kicked him in the side, shouting at the top of his lungs.

“Riders! Riders ahead!”

The shouts had worked better than a bucket of cold.

Jon was awake a heartbeat later his blade in hand, as the first rider came rushing through the underwood.

He was mounted on a strange black-and-white horse with a spear in hand.

Jon had noticed him at once, because of the red silk scarf wrapped around his helmet.

The man didn’t hesitate, before he had threw his spear at him, but Jon was fast enough to jump aside, his blade risen in defense.

His heart was racing wildly as he stroke his blade at the animal’s side.

The horse shrieked and threw the man from its back. Jon could have easily killed him, but a bronze-skinned man with a feathered cloak had unleashed a bolt at him, missing him by a hair’s breadth.

Jon had to move backwards to evade another one from the other side and saw that he was not the only one engaged in a battle for survival.

Bronn was fighting a swordsman with a forked beard dyed green and purple and silver while Ser Redfort was lying on the ground, a bolt sticking from his arm.

Ser Andar was nowhere to be seen at first, but then Jon found him crossing blades with a tall and gaunt man. He too must have been mounted on one of these strange horses, for Jon saw it running down two of their guardsmen.

The men were exchanging blows left and right, but Jon was soon otherwise engaged.

A squat hairy man was upon him within the blink of a moment.

Jon parried the blow easily, but soon another crossbow bolt was flying his way and Jon quickly grabbed the man’s shoulder to push him into the direction of the projectile.

The man grunted and Jon drove his blade deep into the pink flesh at his neck.

Hot blood splattered unto his armor and a sharp sting caused him to stumble to the ground.

This time he hadn’t been able to move aside quickly enough, but his armor had prevented the worst.

Another bolt was unleashed by the powdered bowman, but Jon managed to duck out of the way, kissing the dusty ground.

He heard the clopping of horse hooves behind him and as he turned around, he saw a dying man, Ser Andar Royce, two bolts sticking out of his back.

Jon tightened his grip on his blade and was about to pull himself back to his feet, when he heard a man’s loud boice echoing over the woods.

“I found the dwarf! I found the dwarf!”

The man announced and dragged Lord Tyrion along, over the heap of fallen corpses.

Within the blink of a moment, the commander shouted something at his men in a foreign tongue.

Jon looked around quickly. They had lost just as many men as they had killed, but the worst loss was Royce.

Bronn was also alive, his sword still raised, but not moving.

“It is me,” the dwarf told the Commander, blood running down his nose. He must have been hit as he had fallen from his horse. “Lord Tyrion Lannister, the son of Lord Tywin Lannister. Are you perhaps in his service? If so please leave these men alone. Especially, the boy over there and the sellsword Bronn…and the two young lords…,” he was about to continue, but when he saw that Royce was no longer moving, he corrected himself. “Please show the survivors mercy.”

The Commander gave a cruel smile. “Are these important lordlings?”

“The one you killed was the heir to House Royce,” Tyrion explained. “I must ask to hand his body to the Silent Sisters when we pass the Quiet Isle. Lord Royce will take ill if we let him rot here. The other two are Ser Redfort and…he is a knight House Karstark and kin to Lord. Lady Stark sent him with us to keep an eye on me. I am sure both will bring you a handsome ransom.”

Jon would have kissed Tyrion in that moment, if his shoulder wasn’t hurting so badly.

The leader grinned at Jon. “Very well. Tie them up and let’s return to the Inn at the Crossroads to meet with Lord Tywin…to grab our reward.”

…


	15. Ned

**Ned**

The darkness around him felt suffocating, but the smell of his swollen leg was even worse. Yet, he was still alive and breathing.

Ned couldn’t call this mercy.

_Sansa_, he thought with a bleeding heart. _What have you done?_

_No_, Ned thought and brushed a fall of greasy hair out of his face. _Why was I so blind? I should have never come here. The dead direwolf was a warning and I didn’t see it coming._

He clenched his teeth, when another jolt of pain washed through his legs.

When he lifted his head again, he only found darkness.

He was sealed deep below the Red Keep. There were no windows, not even slits. He could not see, only feel, though the visions came to him, nevertheless.

Sometimes he saw Robert, laughing as Tywin presented Rhaegar’s squashed son to him and at other times he saw Princess Rhaenys, all bloody and frightened like a little kitten as they had dragged her before the new King. Robert had grabbed her hair and had forced her to kiss his blade. Then, he had told her to bend the knee.

Ned had shouted at Robert afterwards, calling him terrible names he had meant. Only when he had brought his sister’s dead corpse before him, had Robert returned to his old self.

Again, Ned had allowed himself to be fooled.

_I should have taken Lyanna’s babe and crowned him_, he thought. _Or Prince Viserys._

Robert was never fit to be a King.

It was just that neither Ned nor Jon had seen it coming.

Or perhaps he had seen in coming and had just ignored the obvious signs?

_I should have known better_, Ned knew now and closed his eyes, as a familiar face appeared before his eyes.

It was Prince Rhaegar, in his swashed armor, crimson blood running down his handsome face. His sister had loved him with all her heart and Ned had helped Robert to murder him.

This too he regretted. Even a lovestruck and lovestruck Prince didn’t deserve such a fate.

Next came Lyanna, her grey eyes cold and accusing.

“What did you do to my boy?” she asked him, her grey eyes bleeding with tears and her brown locks covered with faded winter roses. “Why did you break your promise?”

_I kept my promise_, Ned muttered to himself. _As best as I could._

_It was another lie_, he knew. The boy had not been happy and he had been relieved when he had wanted to join the Night’s Watch, for it had lifted a burden from his shoulders. In the Night’s Watch the boy would have been safe from Robert. At least that is what he had told himself to ease his guilt.

_I tried to steal away the boy’s future_, he knew now. _And had supported a man that had never deserved the Crown._

Even so, he felt pain when he thought about Robert’s miserable death. He had been close to him. No, for many years he had considered him to be his true brother, for not even Benjen and Brandon had been able to make him laugh as Robert.

“You chose him over your own blood,” Lyanna accused him. “I told you that I never wanted him, but you wouldn’t listen.”

“Aye,” Ned muttered to himself and covered his face with his hands, trying to chase away the ghosts that were hunting him day and night. “Are you satisfied, sister? Are you done tormenting me?”

No answer came.

Mere hours had turned into days in the matter of a heartbeat, stretching endlessly. Ned couldn’t say how much time had passed. The only measure of time was the coming and going of the goaler.

He came two times a day and every time Ned would ask for his daughters, but would receive no answer.

He should be angry with Sansa, but then she was only a foolish child, a foolish child he had dragged into a pit full of vipers.

Then, his thoughts strayed back to other children, his own and Aegon Targaryen, Rhaenys Targaryen, Viserys Targaryen and Daenerys Targaryen. He had stolen their home from them and perhaps that was the punishment the gods had intended for him in exchange for a broken promise. The loss of his children.

_I should have known better_, he whispered to the shadows. _I should have known what a King Robert would be when he called a squashed babe dragonspawn._

_I should have stopped calling you my King, Robert_, he thought. _And put a crown atop Viserys Targaryens head. I could have wed Princess Rhaenys and Princess Daenerys to my sons…I could have saved the realm from falling into the hands of the treacherous lions. _

Ned had blinded himself to the truth out of a wish for comfort.

Aye, that was the gist of it all. He had looked away and had allowed evil to thrive without doing anything about it.

It was the golden light, that was falling through the creaking door, that blinded him momentarily and made him gasp in pain.

“Wine,” the goaler offered him this time and handed him a cup of wine. “A gift.”

Ned held his hand before himself and squinted his eyes, as he stared at the man beside the goaler.

It was Varys, the Spider. He was garbed in a black cloak, his bare head shining like the moon.

“My Lord Stark,” Varys greeted him friendly and dipped his head. “I have come to see you regarding an urgent matter.”

Ned laughed. “Have you come to poison me like Jon Arryn?”

“No,” the man replied with a heavy sigh. “I have come to save you.”

“Save me?” Ned asked. “How?”

“First you must hear the truth of it all,” he replied. “Although, I think you already know the truth. _The seed is strong_…as they say.”

“Indeed,” Ned replied. “And the last thing I expected was that my own daughter would betray me.”

“Children are not puppets,” Lord Varys said. “The King must have enchanted Lady Sansa. And Princess Rhaenys…she was also imprisoned, though I doubt they would dare to kill her. Nobody wants to admit it, but the last thing the Lannister’s need is to drag Dorne into this conflict.”

“She was a child,” Ned defended Sansa. “I should have known better than to stay here.”

“In the aftermath we are always smarter,” Varys said and leaned closer, the smell of his perfume filling Ned’s nose. “I know what I am speaking of.”

“How so?” Ned asked.

“I have a boy who defied my orders,” Varys replied. “A boy with silver hair and purple eyes who was supposed to stay hidden until the right moment. Prince Aegon Targaryen or should I call him King Aegon the Sixth of his Name? Well, it is the boy you defended against the King. I was quite baffled when you did that.”

Ned froze, all his pain and sorrow suddenly washed away. He should have expected something like that. The Spider was never loyal to anyone.

“Why is it so unbelievable? I am no man who takes pleasure in butchered children.”

“The boy is hardly a child,” Varys replied. “And you had no qualms about trying to find an allegiance with Lord Renly. To marry Rhaenys to Renly heir…A fine idea, but Stannis would have never forgiven you for such a betrayal and many would have called you dishonorable.”

“I was desperate to protect the girl,” Ned defended his reason. “And I thought with the girl as Queen her brother might be satisfied to stay in Essos. This would have solved our problem…and yes…it would have been dishonorable. I take no pride in what I attempted to do.”

“And yet you warned Stanns?” Varys asked. “You truly are a strange man, Lord Stark. Well, that at least makes you interesting. And if you are fretting about Renly…he escaped not long after and is now on his way to the Reach, probably to wed Loras’ sister, Lady Margaery.”

“And Stannis?”

“Is hiding at Dragonstone while your son is preparing for war. You see, Lord Stark, the realm is falling apart and I am trying to save it. But do accomplish this goal, we will need a proper King, a King that is wise and merciful, the boy of whom I speak of. He is an honorable fool like you, my Lord, but a good boy and brave. He will make a better King than the Lannister’s and the Baratheon’s, who are nothing but parasites upon the realm. With the right guidance we could restore order.”

Ned knew who he was talking about. Himself, Lord Eddard Stark.

It felt as if all his prayers had been answered, but Ned also understood the consequences of such a decision.

His lords might have forgiven him if he had supported Renly instead of Stannis. They knew neither and would followed as long as it brought them an advantage, but supporting Aegon Targaryen was much more difficult.

The way things stood, the Spider was his only way to survive. And for Arya and Sansa.

“What do you want from me?” Ned asked straight to the point. “Please speak plainly, for my head is hurting too much to decipher your riddled speech.”

“I would have you lie, my Lord. I know you are not a mummer, but you will have to go against your very nature. Admit to your treason…say that you were conspiring against your King. And then ask for forgiveness and bend the knee. Buy me the time I need to prepare the ascension of a new King and buy yourself the time you need to save your children.”

“You want me to bend the knee to this spawn of incest?”

“A King,” Varys corrected him. “A false King, but a King nevertheless…a King that can spare your and your children’s life. And then, when the time comes you shall be rewarded by the new King.”

Ned knew it was the only way. “Are you prepared to swear on that?”

Varys shook his head. “Men like me do not swear, but you have my promise, Lord Stark.”

…


	16. Robb

**Robb**

The Twins loomed before them like two black candles, casting long shadows over the peaceful river.

No army would be able to take this castle, so much Robb had been able to tell at the first glance.

The stone bridge arching between the castles was the only crossing point for a hundred miles in either direction.

_I need this crossing_, he thought and watched anxiously as the sun was descending in the east. _I need this crossing._

And to get this crossing he had sent out his mother, like the green boy he was. Yet, even his bannermen had agreed with the idea, probably because they feared old Walder Frey might forget his loyalties and hand him over to Lord Tywin.

Robb wouldn’t put it past him after what his mother and the Blackfish had told him about Lord Frey, but he still had a bad feeling about his decision.

He was still at odds with his mother, regarding the matter with Jon.

Everything would be easier if he was here.

“Stop frowning, Stark,” Theon said and elbowed him. “Your mother will make quick work of the old man.”

“I hope you are right,” Robb replied and lifted his head when he noticed that Ghost had risen to his feet, the wolf’s golden eyes darting to men that were riding under the Blackfish’s banner.

The Blackfish and his scouts had finally returned.

“It is good to have you back, Grand-Uncle,” Robb greeted the elderly knight. He had tried his best to build a better relationship between himself and his Grand-Uncle, a man who was not only most qualified at the art of war, but also his kin.

“I can assure you that the Lannister’s are blind to our plans, nephew,” the Blackfish assured him.

“You have my thanks, Grand-Uncle.”

The man scoffed and led his horse away.

“Thank me, when this war is over.”

Not long after, his mother returned.

“What does Walder Frey want from me, mother?”

His mother paled, a nervous smile playing on her lips.

“We may cross,” she said. “But Lord Walder made conditions.”

Robb had expected so much.

“What conditions?”

“Lord Walder wants two of his grandsons to become wards of Winterfell,” his mother explained.

“That is a fair price,” Robb agreed, but his mother’s shaking head silenced him.

“But not the only condition. He wants Arya to wed his youngest son Elmar.”

Robb swallowed hard.

Jon would cut off his head and the thought of leaving his little sister in the hand of these Frey Lords displeased him greatly.

But for now he had no other choice. Perhaps he could negotiate a different match once this war was done. Perhaps for Rickon or Bran.

“Is there more?”

“Aye,” his mother confirmed and averted her gaze. “There are more conditions.”

“He wants you take on his son Olyvar Frey as your squire and for you to wed one of his daughters.”

Robb shouldn’t have been surprised, but the idea of a marriage did not please him. It would be more beneficial to remain unmarried should a better match arise.

Yet, he had no other choice. He couldn’t expect more of Arya than he himself was willing to give.

“I shall do it,” Robb replied without hesitation. “I need_ this_ bridge.”

…

The night was chilly and a full moon was laughing at him, lightening the path ahead.

Robb rode in company of his personal guard, the Wolf’s Guard. There were Robin Flint, Daryn Hornwood, Eddard Karstark, Torrhen Karstark, the Smalljon Umber and Dacey Mormont, who were probably thinking of him as nothing more than a green boy that needed their protection.

Slowly, Robb cast his gaze over the swaying trees and shadow-like landscape. The trees were whispering, every leaf and twig rustling as the wind washed over the tree crowns.

Right in front of him was a river, pitch black like the deepest ocean and covered with a pattern of glittering stars.

The rushing sound of the water mixed together with the soft sound of the wind.

It was almost like music, calming and unsettling at once.

Across the river he could see the subtle movements of shields and weapons shifting in the moonlight. These men were under the command of the Greatjon Umber, Lady Mormont and Lord Jason Mallister the Lord of Seaguard, who had joined their host only recently.

Robb trusted him, but he was not one of his bannermen.

Angling his head to the left, he saw the movements of Lord Karstark, who was hiding near the slope of the river.

“I am sure they will come, Robb,” Theon told him eagerly. “The Kingslayer will piss himself in fear once he realizes that he has sprung the trap.”

Robb was not eager to fight.

His heart longed for Winterfell, for Bran and Rickon, for his childhood.

Absentmindedly, Robb brushed his hand over Greywind’s furry ear.

The wolf gave a soft wine.

“Soon,” Robb told him. “Soon.”

Beside Robb lingered Robin Flint and Daryn Hornwood, silent and tense.

_They are all brave men_.

“I think it is time, my Lord,” Torrhen Karstark whispered and chuckled when he noticed Olyvar Frey’s trembling form.

“Do you hear, Lord Frey?” Eddard Karstark, Torrhen’s brother, teased him. “The enemy is coming.”

The boy glowered at them.

“I can hear it, my lords.”

“I can hear it too,” Robb assured the boy, as the sound of the drums rose and mixed with the pounding of the horse hooves.

The first horn was sounded when the first Tully banners could be spotted ahead, riding under the Blackfish.

Robb had sent them to lure the Kingslayer here.

It was what he had hoped for.

The second followed soon after. _Lord Karstark or someone else. It doesn’t matter. The trap is laid out and the enemy is coming._

At last, the third horn was sounded. As the enemy’s cavalry rushed forward, their archers hiding near the slopes of the river loosened their arrows upon the riders.

A heartbeat later, Robb cut down his first men, but always kept his eyes on the enemy ahead, searching for the Kingslayer.

A prideful man like him wouldn’t hide away. At least, that was what Robb was hoping for.

Soon, He parried the blow of another, but the battle didn’t last long, for Greywind buried his teeth in his neck and made quick work of him.

Around him, Robb heard the cries of battle and the clinking of steel.

The battle raged on and Robb was soon soaked in sweat, his arms growing heavy as he continued to kill.

It was true what his mother had said. He had yet to get used to a real sword.

As the battle intensified the enemy started to break lines rushed towards them with all the desperation and strength they could muster.

It was then that Robb saw the Kingslayer.

He was clad in golden armor, a white cloak as pure as a maiden streaming from his back.

Robb’s men had made sure to hide their presence as long as possible. Most had sewn twigs into their clothing to conceal their movements.

Even so, it didn’t take long before the Kingslayer claimed his first victim.

It was Daryn Hornwood, who had been gutted like a pig, barely a hundred steps away from Robb.

Eddard Karstark didn’t hesitate to haul himself at the Kingslayer while Eddard and Robin Flint flanked Robb.

A flock of arrows sizzled over his head, as Robb urged his horse forward.

He would not hide, though he heard the shouts of his men echoing in his ears.

The Kingslayer had just buried his blade in Eddard Karstark’s neck when Robb reached the golden knight.

The Kingslayer turned his head faster than an arrow in flight, clashing his sword against Robb’s with vicious strength.

The blades kissed and the horses beneath them whinnied.

All the while the butchery around them continued.

Their blades kissed again when his men reached them.

Torrhen Karstark didn’t hesitate to bury his blade in the Kingslayer’s horse, making the animal rear.

Within the blink of a moment, the golden knight was hurled from his saddle, but managed to pull himself back to his feet.

Without mercy, he killed Torrhen Karstark with savage blow to the head. The young man had taken off his helmet, probably to improve his vision.

Robb had done the same, but Greywind was like his shadow and the rest of the Wolfsgaurd didn’t hesitate hurl themselves at the Kingslayer, pulling at him and trying to capture hi, as Robb had bid them during their last war council.

The Kingslayer was the only way to get his father and sister’s back.

_It is the only way_, Robb thought later when the battle was done, though he longed to kill the man, as Lord Karstark had asked of him in tears.

He had lost two of his sons and Robb had learned what it felt to sacrifice men for one’s cause.

He knew these men had died for him.

It made it almost impossible for him to take pleasure in this _first _victory.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it is not long, but the next one will be longer and Jon's chapter. Then comes probably Sansa and then another Jon chapter. Then comes probably Aegon or Dany chapter and a Cat chapter and then comes Rhaenys. The Rhaenys chapter will be when Jon and her meet again. I might even post more than one chapter in February since I have pre-written drafts for these chapters.


	17. Jon

**Jon**

Jon woke with blood in his mouth. He felt cold, a chill that penetrated his entire body.

It had rained all day, as they had marched towards their enemy, as the Lannister soldiers called his brother Robb.

Like the other prisoners, Jon had been forced to march behind the army, mostly on foot, though in the last two days he had been allowed to ride, probably to speed up their travel.

All in all, he and Ser Jon Redfort were treated with respect and the food was much better than anything he would have received at the Wall: hard bread, salted beef and wine on some days and ale on others.

Not that Jon had been able to stomach much food these days. Every night, he had dreamed of Ghost and in the morning he had tasted blood in his mouth. It usually meant, that his loyal beast was close, but he had yet to return.

Not that Jon was displeased with Ghost’s absence. It was better that way, for the Lannister men would most likely murder him.

Yet, Ghost and his own uncertain fate was not the only matter occupying his mind. He was also fretting about his father, brothers and sisters. His father was imprisoned, his sisters were most likely hostages in King’s Landing and Robb was about fight his first battle while Jon was sitting here like a useless fool.

It was early morning, fireflies drifting through the tree crowns.

His cloak, boots and tunic were drenched from the rain, but if they were lucky the sun would soon burst through the sky and warm them.

He also hoped to get a glimpse at the battle and wondered about the outcome. If Robb won a grand a great victory Jon could be ransomed or killed. Nothing was sure, all he had was Tyrion’s promise, but that counted not much in this place. The man who ruled over these men was his father, Lord Tywin Lannister.

“Jon,” Ser Jon Redfort called out when the two guardsmen parted and allowed Tyrion entrance. He was dressed in armor and was huffing and puffing as he waddled towards Jon. At his side was a servant boy.

“I bring you some breakfast, Jon,” Tyrion offered and sat down beside him in the grass. It were trenchers filled with sliced pork covered in some white sauce. It looked delicious, but Jon refused. He couldn’t bring himself to eat this fine food when his brother’s men were about to fight a bloody battle. Ser Jon Redfort was less hesitant and was breaking his fast while Tyrion told Jon about his newest findings.

“Ser Addam’s outriders say that Lord Walder Frey’s levies have joined your brother. They are most likely more than a day’s march North of us.”

“Do you know if Robb is commanding the host?” Jon asked after he had taken a sip from the wine. It helped to drive away the chill.

“No,” Tyrion said. “But I will partake in this coming battle. I am to protect the baggage train. It seems my Lord Father wants to see my alive after all.”

Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement. “And my father and sisters? Have you heard any word of them?”

Tyrion shrugged his shoulders. “Not much more than yesterday. Your sisters are supposedly hostages and my father hopes to give your brother a harrowing defeat to return peace to the realm.

“Peace to the realm?” Jon asked bitterly. “By murdering thousands of innocent women and children? Lady Stark acted foolishly, but none of her father’s subjects deserved this fate. Your father is a murderer.”

“So are many lords,” Tyrion replied in a warning tone. “And you ought to keep these thoughts to yourself, Jon. My father would cut out your tongue.”

“I am no fool,” Jon replied. “Let’s say, this battle goes as your father hopes. What will happen with me and Ser Redfort?”

“No matter the outcome of the battle, I will try to get you two ransomed,” Tyrion promised. “I owe you so much for defending me.”

Jon knew he couldn’t expect more than that.

“I thank you,” Jon replied and lowered his head.

“I led you here,” Tyrion returned and bared his teeth. “I didn’t bring you much luck, did I?”

“You kept me from throwing away my life,” Jon replied. “And if I die, then I will die a knight. There are much worse ways to go. Better than to die as a Snow at the Wall.”

“You are thinking far too much of death, Jon,” Tyrion argued and patted his shoulder. “There are still many things you have to taste of life before you go.”

When Tyrion had left them, Ser Jon Redfort spoke.

“Why do you trust the dwarf?” he asked, his voice laced with bitterness.

“He is probably the most _trustworthy_ Lannister there is,” Jon replied and cast his gaze over the Lannister camp.

The camp sprawled for miles between the river and the Kingsroad. Swarms of fireflies were drifting amongst the tents and the sound of a bawdy songs filled the air.

Nothing was happening and Jon decided to rest.

It was the roaring sound of a horn, wild and urgent, that woke him from his slumber.

Within the blink of a moment, everything was back in motion. Men and horses blundered through the predawn chill, saddles were being clinched, wagons loaded and fires extinguished.

Trumpets were blown and Jon was helped unto his horse.

“What is going on?” Ser Jon Redfort asked one of the guardsmen. “Is the battle beginning?”

“The Stark boy stole a march on us,” the man informed them unhappily. “He crept down the Kingsroad in the night and now his host is forming up a mile north form here.”

Again, the trumpets roared and as the they walked the sun was rising, painting the sky in red and golden streaks.

Another war horn joined the song, a deep mournful sound that chilled him to the bones.

It was a Northern horn and from the hill Jon could see the entire strength of the Lannister forces, unfolding like an iron rose, thorns of gleaming spikes kissing the sky.

A man in golden armor led the center and raised the standards . Foot archers arrayed themselves into three long lines, to the east and west of the road and started stringing their bows. Between them pike men formed squares and behind them were rank on rank men armed with spear and sword and axe.

Jon estimated twenty-thousand men, but wasn’t sure.

Even so, he could see that Lord Tywin Lannister was commanding the reserve, around five-thousand men strong, half mounted and half on foot.

Jon felt only disgust for this man. He had no qualms about murdering children and punishing others for his pride, but couldn’t even stand at the frontline.

It was true what his father had told him. Tywin Lannister was not only a monster, but also a coward.

_May you die_, Jon cursed him. _And find a death that befits a butcher like you._

It was all Jon could do when he heard the rumble of the Northern drums. If he tried to flee, he would die and for all his brazen words he didn’t want to go yet.

Perhaps that was a dishonorable thought, but it was what it was.

Another trumpet was sounded and Jon saw the van of the Lannisters amassing on the left, the banner of House Clegane rising high.

This man was Tywin’s butcher.

_May you die as well, bloody dog!_

Far off in the distance, Jon couldn’t see much but blurred flecks of grey, organ and white. It were the colors of his brother’s bannermen and the sound of the drums filled him with deep longing to join them.

As the sound of the drums finally died down, the sound of snapping arrows filled the air.

A vast flock of arrows arched up from the right and rained down on the approaching Northmen.

Yet, the scrams of the dying men was soon drowned out by the blaring trumpets of the Lannisters.

Now Jon was no longer filled with sadness, but a sick feeling that made him glad he hadn’t eaten from the food Tyrion had brought them.

For not long after, the van of Gregor Clegane clashed into the spear wall of the Northmen.

Shields clashed, spears were trust and the song of dying horses reached his ears.

The battle seemed to last forever, but he knew it was over when Ser Kevan brought up his center to support the van, a huge mass of pikemen pushing the Northmen against the hills.

At last, Lord Tywin and his reserve came sweeping down along the river.

Jon watched with clenched teeth as the golden-and-crimson banner of Lannister was rippling over his head and the mounted men thundered over the field, leaving behind nothing more than a cloud of dust.

In this moment, the remnants of the Stark lines were shattered like glass.

By then, Jon had lost all hope to be ransomed.

Robb would do better to ransom the men that were taken captive during this battle.

Trueborn men and not his bastard brother.

No, Jon knew he couldn’t go home yet, a desperate plan blooming in his mind.

Yet, he wouldn’t sit here doing nothing.

“Tyrion,” he said when he came to him that night. “How many men were taken captive?”

“Lord Cerwyn, Ser Wylis Manderly, Lord Harrion Karstark and four Freys,” he recounted the men that had been brought to a different camp.

Jon knew Cerwyn, but only in passing. His son had been Robb’s friend, but not his. A bastard had no friends.

“And Robb?”

“He was not among them,” Tyrion explained. “ Well, that shouldn’t be your first concern. With these many captives taken I am sure your brother will be told to ransom his lords first.”

“Something Robb cannot afford to do,” Jon replied. “Which is why I must speak to your father. You must also tell him that I am Eddard Stark’s bastard.”

Tyrion’s brows rose to the top of his head.

“My father? Are you mad?”

“Can you do it or not?”

“I can,” Tyrion said warily. “But…,” he was about to protest, but Jon cut him off.

“I must speak to him. Don’t fret, I will keep my true thoughts to myself.”

Tyrion swallowed thickly and dropped his head in understanding.

“I shall do as you wish.”

…


	18. Sansa

**Sansa**

Sansa had donned her plainest grey dress and asked her handmaid to arrange her head atop her head. Today was no day for celebrations and beautiful dresses.

After her father’s imprisonment, Sansa had nursed doubts if her decision had been the right one, but after she had gone to her beloved Joffrey and had asked him to show mercy to her father, he had kissed her cheek and had promised her to do as she asked of him.

This simple gesture had not only helped to assure her of Joff’s love, but had also helped to ease her guilt. Their Lord Father and Lady Mother had raised her to be loyal to her family, but how could she have been loyal to her father when he was planning treason with Princess Rhaenys?

No, it had been the only way. Her Lord Father had forced Sansa to choose between her future King and family and in the end she had chosen her King and _now _her husband.

Even the Queen Mother had agreed with her regarding Princess Rhaenys. The Princess was not worthy of the crown, because she held neither love nor loyalty towards the Baratheon family, who had been so kind to show her mercy after all the cruel things her father and mad grandfather had done to King Robert and the Starks. That Princess Rhaenys’ brother, the Pretender King Aegon, was probably planning to steal her beloved’s crown was another reason.

Her brother Robb was also currently waging a war against the Lannisters, but Sansa was sure her marriage to Joff would restore peace to the realm or so Joff had assured her after he had taken her to a Septon to exchange marriage vows.

It had been done in secret and they had clumsily consummated their marriage shortly after, but Joff had promised her that they would have a much grander wedding once the war was over.

Sansa hadn’t cared about that. The secret wedding had been like a song and her beloved Joffrey had looked very handsome.

“Sansa,” Jeyne Poole’s sad voice called her back to the present. “It is time.”

Sansa took one last glance at the looking glass and smiled at her childhood friend. Jeyne was also dressed in grey and her eyes were red-rimmed from the tears she had shed. She had asked the Queen to send her home, but had been refused again.

Sansa had tried to remind Jeyne of their friendship, but the girl couldn’t be consoled.

She was such a child and so easily moved by what had happened.

“Yes, let us go,” Sansa prodded and stepped through the door that was held open by Ser Arys Oakheart. “I can barely sit still.”

“Are you not afraid?” Jeyne asked in a low voice, as they were led along the narrow corridor. “Your father is an accused traitor.”

Sansa had no doubt in her heart that Joffrey would keep his promise to her and smiled warmly at her old childhood friend. “All will be well, Jeyne. Father will confess and my marriage to Joffrey will restore peace to the realm. Just wait and see.”

Jeyne said nothing, but that was no surprise, for the moment they stepped outside Sansa had only eyes for her beautiful Joffrey.

He looked like a _true_ King with his golden crown and with his beautiful crimson cloak wrapped around his shoulders. His beautiful curls looked almost like beaten gold and he was so tall, he should be called the Dragonknight reborn.

“Even in plain clothing you are beautiful, Lady Sansa,” her King said and pressed her hand to his soft lips. “It speaks for you to taint your beauty on behalf of your treacherous father.”

“My father was led astray by the Princess Rhaenys,” Sansa told her King. “You heard what Lord Varys said. He is willing to confess.”

“He is still a traitor, as is my former betrothed,” Joffrey replied and smiled. “Sadly, I am not allowed to _punish_ her. Mother says it would bring the Dornish against us.”

Sansa was taken back by his words. She understood his dislike for his former bride, but Sansa hadn’t thought he would want to kill her.

To send her to the Silent Sisters or to marry her to a lowly lord, but certainly not to kill her.

_Truly, Princess must have done Joffrey great wrong if he dislikes her so much._

“You are wise to keep the peace, your Grace,” Sansa replied and took his arm. “Speaking of peace, where is my sister? Has Arya finally calmed down?”

“Your sister is the wildest of beasts,” the Queen Mother added softly, who had watched their conversation in silence. She wore a dream of crimson, rubies shining in her crown. “Yesterday she bit one of the servants and nearly escaped. I was forced to discipline her and she was screaming and kicking throughout the whole procedure.”

“Arya can never behave,” Sansa replied diplomatically, though she worried for her sister. She wished Arya wouldn’t make it so hard. “I shall speak to her tonight. I am sure she will see reason.”

“I hope so, little bird,” the Queen Mother said, her crimson lips twisting upwards. “I hope so.”

Sansa swallowed hard, for she feared that the Queen Mother could sense that something had changed between her and Joffrey.

“Stop bothering us, mother,” Joffrey told the Queen Mother and came to her rescue like a knight from the songs. “This is none of your business.”

Sansa shuddered when she heard the screams of the people that had assembled before the Great Sept of Baelor. She had known that there would be a large crowd, but she hadn’t expected them to be so vicious.

She could almost smell the bloodlust, as her Lord Father was led before them.

He looked exhausted, his plain brown hair matted and sticking to his long face. He immediately sought her gaze.

She couldn’t bear to look at him, her heart threatening to jump out of her chest. _Traitor,_ his eyes seemed to say, but when she looked at the crowd she knew that it were the citizens of King’s Landing that were calling for the ‘traitor’s head’.

It was all wrong, but when in doubt like now, she reminded herself of the _promise _her beloved Joff had made to her.

_Joffrey promised to show mercy. He would never lie to me._

To re-assure herself once more she looked at Joff, who was grinning and waving at the crowd.

When he noticed that she was looking at him, he smiled.

_My father committed treason, _she reminded herself_. He wanted to place Renly on the throne. _

_I did the right thing._

_I was loyal to my King._

Yet, when she looked back at her father, fresh doubt filled her heart and washed away any reassurance she had felt a moment ago.

Her father was looking at her, but not really seeing her. Perhaps it was the fever caused by the festering wound on his leg or perhaps it was his disappointment, she couldn’t say, but it forced her to avert her gaze once more.

By the time the High Septon stepped forward, Sansa’s nerves were strained like a bowstring.

He wore glittering robes of white and silver, his croaking voice reaching wide and far.

The High Septon spoke of sins committed and their King’s love for mercy.

A flock of crows soared over the sky, feathers black and shiny, as her father was led forward, Joffrey’s court watching him with different expressions.

There was Lord Varys in pink silk, his smile mysterious as always, the Queen Mother Cersei watching the crowd warily, Ser Barristan Selmy, grim-faced and serious, and at last Lord Baelish. He was also smiling, his grey-green eyes filled with a confidence that belied more than words could tell.

Father had told her that he was her mother’s friend and she had briefly spoken to him during the Tourney of the Hand, but beyond that she hardly knew anything about him.

“I am Eddard Stark, the Lord of Winterfell,” her father’s voice rang over the crowd. The words came out weak and soft, his voice rattling painfully. “I called King Robert my friend and I betrayed his memory by plotting with his enemy, his own brother, Lord Renly Baratheon and Princess Rhaenys Targaryen…,” he trailed off, his voice swallowed by the crowd’s shouts.

_Traitor! Oathbreaker! Take his head!_

Many such terrible curses were uttered, but the Gold Cloaks made quick work of them and used their shields and spears to drive the crowd backwards.

When order had been restored, her Lord Father spoke again, his voice strained and distant to her ears.

“It was all my planning!” he confessed. “The Princess Rhaenys was a victim of my and Lord Renly’s ambitions! She is innocent!”

Again, the crowd roared like a lion and her father faltered, steadied by Ser Barristan’s hands.

Sansa’s heart nearly stopped and all her confidence left her.

Again, the Gold Cloaks silenced the crowd, returning order to the chaos.

Then, her father spoke once more, his words piercing her heart like a sharp blade.

“May the gods forgive me.”

Sansa knew her father wasn’t referring to the Seven, but their own gods, the old gods, the gods of the weirwoods.

Then, the High Septon stepped forward and spread his arms wide.

“This man has confessed his sins before the gods,” he declared and looked at Joff. “Will you grant him mercy, your Grace?”

Silence followed, the pounding in her chest louder than the rumbling voices of the crowd.

Sansa sought her beloved’s gaze, his jade eyes alight with a mixture of amusement and pride.

He was a strong and merciful King.

He would keep his promise.

For their love.

Joff smiled at her, as he opened his mouth. A traitor’s smile, as she would know later.

Her Joff was now no longer looking at her, but at Ser Illyn Payne, his executioner.

“Ser Illyn! Bring me his head!”

All of Sansa’s hopes and dreams were shattered at once, a screams of protest tearing from her mouth, as a flock of crows soared over her head.

“Death!” they croaked. “Death! Death! Death!”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware that Sansa only flowers in book two, but consider that a change for this story. You could also imagine her a year older, if it helps.
> 
> I know the Show Writers kinda turned Joff into someone with a weird sexuality, but there is no basis for that in the books. Some think he is mad or cruel because of incest, but I think he is just the result of really bad parenting. I mean if you tell a child its entire life how he is the best and most beautiful he will most likely end up entitled and proud. Not to blame all of it on Cersei here, because let's be honest...Robert didn't seem to give much shit about Joffrey either, though it seems quite clear that Joff wanted Robert's love and admiration. Joff certainly had some bad tendencies as a child, but even such children can turn out alright if you parent them in the right way. Joff just had the bad luck of being the son of Cersei...and Robert. I see Viserys the same way. I think he basically emulated his father by abusing Daenerys. Children of abusive households either reject or copy their parents behaviour. That said, I think some of Joff's irresponsible behaviours stem from Robert (not in a genetical way, but I am sure Joff saw how his father was behaving as a King) and not alone from Cersei. Cersei, is a bitch and certainly had bad tendency as a child as well, but I do think she might have turned out less terrible if her mother had lived. She just had the bad luck of having a shit father like Tywin.
> 
> Ah, yes, and no Lannister x Tyrell allegiance in this story. and RIP Ned...I don't hate him, but in this story it had to happen for plot sakes.
> 
> And Sansa kinda got her wake-up call in this chapter, but unlike in the books she will not have an easy way out of this debacle.


	19. Jon

**Jon**

Jon felt a hint of fear when he was finally freed from his chains and led into Lord Tywin Lannister’s pavilion.

He had expected to be truly afraid, but apart from his trembling hand he felt nothing, but disgust for the man he was about to meet.

He had heard numerous stories about Lord Tywin Lannister from his father and other men. He was known to be proud, but so much Jon could have also easily deduce by his bearing.

He looked quite fit for his age, his body upright and his shoulders broad.

Only his bald head and the wrinkles around his mouth and nose showed that he was much older than Lord Eddard.

_The Old Lion_, Jon thought bitterly and dipped his head in greeting. _The Old Lion who butchered thousands to satisfy his pride._

True, Lady Catelyn had provided the spark to stir the first of this war, but her reasons had been less selfish or at least that is what Jon thought about the matter.

“So, you are the _bastard_ of Winterfell?” the Old Lion asked and remained seated, his green eyes flecked with gold, meeting Jon’s gaze across the room.

Jon tried not to flinch as he spoke, keeping his voice calm and measured. He knew his role, but pulling off this mummery was a different matter.

Thus, he exhaled deeply and lowered his head once more.

“I am honored to meet you, Lord Tywin.”

The Old Lion scoffed in disbelief, his lips a firm line.

“You have yet to answer my question, _bastard_.”

_Bastard_, that word burned like a hot poker in his heart. _I am a knight, but that would mean nothing to this man._

But a true and prideful bastard would insist on being called _bastard_.

“Ser Jon,” he corrected the Old Lion, his heart racing wildly as he waited for the man’s answer. “I am a knight.”

“A knight?” the Old Lion asked, his golden eyebrows rising to the op of his head. “Did my son knight you? I wouldn’t put it past Tyrion.”

“No,” Jon replied and stepped closer. “I was knighted by a proper knight after I won my freedom in a trial-by --combat against Ser Mychel Redfort.”

“I heard about it from Tyrion,” the Old Lion said and seized him up, like a groomsman might do with a horse. “You have the Stark coloring, but you do not look much like your Lord Father.

Jon tried his best not to move. “You must have inherited your pretty face from your mother. I always wondered who was beautiful enough to make Lord Eddard Stark forget about his _precious_ honor.”

It was true. Jon had wondered about that as well. The name Ashara Dayne had been brought up more than once in his presence and the sad fate that had _supposedly _befallen her.

Thinking of Lady Ashara’s sad fade, the idea came to him as quickly as lightening. It was a shameful thought, but if he wanted his mummery to be successful he needed to be as convincing as possible.

“A pretty whore, then,” Lord Tywin remarked coldly and straightened himself. “My father liked them too. He was a weakling and his lords were doing as they pleased. Do you know what happened them, _bastard_?”

Jon swallowed hard and gathered his courage.

“I know what happened to _these _lords, but you are wrong. My mother was a noble lady, Lady Ashara Dayne. She killed herself after my father took me away from her. They say she jumped from the Palestone Tower…,” he trailed off and balled his fists.

Then, he excelled deeply, trying to sound as bitter as possible. “I hate him for that, which is why I am here, Lord Tywin. I wish to serve your son…I wish to serve your cause.”

If Lord Tywin was pleased by his offer, it didn’t show on his face. It was a blank mask, his golden-green eyes searching Jon’s face.

“And that is why you want to serve Tyrion?” he asked.

“He was _kind_ to me,” Jon pointed out. It was a lie, but what followed was not what he felt in his heart. “_Kinder _than my own kin.”

“I heard our father allowed you to grow up in his castle,” Lord Tywin pointed out. “If I were him I would have drowned you at birth. That your whore of a mother would have killed herself for it wouldn’t have mattered to me. Nobody forced her to open her legs.”

Jon felt a hot stab of disgust. If he had a sword it would be so easy to kill the man in front of him. And a pleasure too. He had wept for Lord Eddard and that way he could revenge him, but he could do alive more for his sisters than as a dead man.

“Perhaps,” Jon agreed despite all _these_ emotions bubbling beneath the surface. “But I couldn’t care less about my father. You say that he was kind to let me grow up in Winterfell. But how was it kind to myself or my mother? I spent my days looking at what I could never have, though I always surpassed my brother in everything. As for my mother, I might not have known her, but my father killed her. I hate him and I am glad he is dead.”

The last words had been the hardest to say, but if it brought him closer to Arya and Sansa it would be worth it.

It was certainly better than to remain a hostage of the Lannisters, even if it meant to throw away his _honor_.

“They say you tried to murder your crippled brother?” the Old Lion asked, a hint of curiosity shining in his eyes. “Or was that just Lady Stark’s imagination?”

“Lady Stark’s imagination,” Jon chuckled bitterly. “She always resented me.”

“You are honest,” Lord Tywin replied. “But in a different way than your father. I met him only _once_ after I presented Elia Martell’s and Prince Aegon’s bloody corpses to King Robert. He wouldn’t shut about it. I have no use for people like him, fools like him. Still, what my grandson and King did was rather unwise. I do not wish for war with the North, I never die. Yet, now that your father is dead, I won’t have much of a choice, but to crush your brother.”

_Robb tricked you before_, Jon thought. _And he will defeat you again and by freeing Arya and Sansa I will weaken you further._

Still, when he felt the Old Lion’s piercing into him, he was reminded of his role.

“My father was_ indeed_ a fool, my Lord,” Jon said, every word spilling from his lips more painful than the one before. “As I told you before. He probably thought he did me a favor by having me grow up in Winterfell, but it was a pain for me, but now I have a chance to escape the shadow of my brother. True, I am a bastard, but I am a good swordsman and I know more about the North than any other man in your service. Most importantly, my sisters trust me.”

Silence followed, as the Old Lion continued to watch him intently.

Then, he chuckled lightly and rubbed his chin.

“Your older sister is now wed to my foolish King and your younger sister causes my daughter nothing but pain. Cersei thinks her a wild beast.”

“Arya is rather _difficult_,” Jon admitted. “But she likes me. I always did my best to endear myself to my siblings. It made Lady Stark hate me even more, my Lord.”

Lord Tywin sighed and put his balled fist against his cheek.

“Tyrion said you are good with the sword, but it seems to me you have a far too high opinion of yourself, _bastard_. I could kill you and send your head to your brother.”

“And you think I don’t know that?” Jon asked and tried not to blink, as he met the Old Lion’s gaze. “But what do I have to lose? What other chance do I have but to go back to the Wall? I would rather die than to go back to this horrid place. So please, kill me. I shan’t hate you for it.”

Strangely, Lord Tywin chuckled.

“You are brave,” the Old Lion said. “And you have a sharp tongue. No wonder Tyrion likes you. Very well, you may stay in my son’s service, but do not try to fool me, _bastard_. One wrong step and your head is going to rest on a pike.”

Jon nodded his head and swallowed hard.

There was another matter that needed to be addressed.

“There is another thing, my Lord,” Jon said and lowered his head. “Ser Jon Redfort is still your hostage…,” he trailed off.

“What of it?” the Old Lion asked. “Does he want to serve my son as well?”

“You _must _allow him to go free, my Lord,” Jon told him, but kept his gaze lowered. “Or the Vale lords will join my brother’s side. It is already bad enough that Ser Andar perished.”

Lord Tywin said nothing for a long time, as he rubbed his chin with the back of his hand. He carried a thoughtful expression.

“It makes sense to free him. I have no quarrel with the Vale Lords and Ser Andar’s death was an unfortunate incident. He tried to escort my son back to me. I shall do as you ask.”

Jon was surprised that a man so cruel, could be so pragmatic.

“You are really going to stay with the dwarf after all that had happened?” Ser Jon Redfort asked him on the next day after he had been freed from his chains. “After your father was murdered by King Joffrey?”

Jon forced a smile over his lips and leaned closer, keeping his voice low as he spoke, for the guards were only a handful of steps away, watching them through the visor of their helmets, their crimson cloaks fluttering in the wind like the colorful plumage of a bird.

“You misunderstand…I am doing this for my sisters. Tell thatmy brother when you see him.”

Ser Redfort’s eyes widened and he shook his head, his mouth opening in protest, but Jon grabbed his arm to silence him.

“It was an honor to know you, Ser Redfort and now bring Ser Andar home. It is the least we can do for Lord Royce.”

…


	20. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

The darkness was chased away by the light of a torch. She instinctively lifted her hand to protect herself against the pain, but it was no use.

The man looming over her was nothing more than a large shadow, terrible to behold. Rhaenys clenched her teeth when she realized that she had mistaken him for another man, bloodier and more terrible than this one.

It was the man that haunted her nightmares, the man that had murdered her Lady Mother.

The Mountain.

Yet, this one was the Hound, flanked by Ser Meryn Trant and six gold cloaks.

“Are you here to kill me, Dog?” she asked the Hound as she pulled herself to her trembling feet.

The Hound said nothing for a long time and steadied her, as she tried to walk.

She shuddered when he touched her, but her feet had grown weak during her time in this dark cell.

The smell was even worse and her hair was itching. She was sure it were fleas or some other disgusting creature.

“The King wants to invite you to his nameday celebration,” the Hound informed her. He eyed her with a hint of pity and another feeling she couldn’t quite describe.

Was it guilt? It made her wonder if a rotten lot like the Cleganes could even feel pity?”

“May I at least wash and put on new clothes?”

“The King said _now_,” Meryn Trant insisted. “Drag her if you _must_.”

“I a dog not a packhorse,” the Hound snorted at Trant. “You may carry her if you _must_. A brave knight like you would do that for a lady.”

“I can go myself,” Rhaenys insisted coldly and made another step, her feet trembling, but she was able to walk on her own. “Show me the way if it pleases you Ser Clegane.”

The Hound said nothing and pointed ahead.

The sun light was even worse and it was also that Rhaenys recognized for the first time how dirty she really looked. Her once red dress was covered with grime and her black hair knotted and covered with dust and other things she couldn’t describe.

_Joff wants to humiliate me_, she knew but then he had always humiliated everyone around him. _I won’t give him that kind of satisfaction. Never._

Even so, she was pleased to see a blue sky and intrigued when she laid eyes on the long tail of the great comet visible through the scuttling clouds.

_A bleeding star_, she thought and shuddered again. _It seems the Seven Kingdoms will bleed again._

“Crimson is the color of House Lannister,” Ser Meryn Trant told her. “It means victory for House Lannister.”

“Or maybe it heralds the return of the dragons,” Rhaenys whispered to herself and thought of her brother. “Only a self-centered fool like Joffrey would think that such an auspicious sign would refer to himself.”

Yet, she decided to keep these thoughts to herself, as she was escorted to Joffrey’s nameday tourney.

She had heard little about what had transpired outside her prison cell, but knew that a war had broken out between the Lannisters, Baratheons and Starks.

She also knew that Lord Stark had been killed like a common traitor.

She felt strangely sad about that. She held no love for him, but he was no bad man, so much she could tell by the way he had treated her.

Joffrey was the first person she saw. He was seated beneath a crimson canopy and clad in gold-and-red finery, his hair shining like beaten gold. He looked almost like his father, Ser Jaime, but otherwise they had nothing in common.

Ser Jaime had a sharp wit and was no bad man. He had saved her when he had no reason to do so.

She had once asked him why he had done so and he had answered that was what her father had asked of him and that he was sorry he couldn’t save her mother and brother.

“Ah, my loyal dog is bringing my esteemed guest,” Joff said and waved his hand at her. Beside him was the Stark girl, dressed in velvet silk, her red hair covered by a silver hairnet accentuated with moonstones. She was beautiful, but she looked lost.

_Her father died_, Rhaenys knew and cast her sky over the small crowd of onlookers that had assembled on the outer baily where the tourney ground had been erected.

Most of them were cold cloaks or of the city Watch. The lords and ladies she saw even fewer. There was grey-Faced Lord Rosby, Lady Tanda and her two daughters, Lollys and Falyse. There was even the dark-skinned Jalabhar Xho, an exile from Essos and Lady Ermesande, a mere babe in her nurse’s lap.

Princess Myrcella and Tommen were also seated beside their brother. Only the Queen Mother was missing.

“Lady Rhaenys Targaryen!” the Hound announced her presence to the King.

Rhaenys clenched her teeth. She wondered if Joff planned to tear off her clothes to make her humiliation complete. She wouldn’t put it past him.

Rhaenys didn’t even make any attempt to drop a curtsy, but simply dipped her head in reverence.

“Your Grace.”

“Do you like your _new_ name?” Joff asked mockingly. “My father was always much too kind to you…dirty_ dragonspawn_. He shouldn’t have let your Aunt and Uncle escape. Well, I shall take care of them in good time. And that supposed brother of yours…I shall slay him myself, like father did with your father.”

Then, he lifted his silly blade and held it to her neck. He was smiling brightly, as he was jerking his head at Sansa Stark, who stared at her with wide blue eyes.

“And know kiss your Queen’s hand.”

_Queen_, Rhaenys thought in disbelief. _Gods, what had happened during my absence?_

Rhaenys didn’t refuse her King’s Command, though she had a hard time standing once she had placed a quick kiss on the girl’s unmoving hand.

Her Queen didn’t seem pleased about her new title, her gaze darting to the ground when Rhaenys’ eyes fell upon her.

“Congratulations to your marriage, your Grace,” Rhaenys replied and looked around. She needed to sit down. Desperately so. “I am honored to be invited to this tourney. Would you allow me to sit down?”

Joffrey snorted in obvious displeasured.

“You may sit on the floor,” Joff told her and Rhaenys sat down. It didn’t bother her at all, for she wouldn’t have been able to stand any longer.

Joff smiled viciously.

“Do you like that?”

“Yes, your Grace,” Rhaenys replied and noticed that both Tommen and Myrcella were squirming in their seats.

“Good,” Joffrey replied unhappily and turned to look at Sansa. “What do you think my, Lady? Do you think I put Lady Rhaenys in her proper place?”

Sansa Stark smiled, but Rhaenys could tell that it was a forced smile.

“Yes, your Grace.”

“And your brother? Have you heard what they call him? The Young Wolf. A silly name if you ask me. They should call him the young Pup instead.”

He laughed and the others forced themselves to follow suit.

Especially, Lady Sansa’s laughter all too bright and forced. “Oh, you are so funny!”

Rhaenys didn’t react at all, only when Tommen came closer to touch her arm. He was shy as ever.

“I am to ride in the tourney today. Mother said I could.”

“A wonderful idea. I shall be pleased to watch you ride, my little Prince.”

The boy beamed and Joffrey promptly made another one of his mocking comments.

“His foeman will be stuffed with straw,” Joffrey he said. “A fitting enemy.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes and clutched her dirty dress before she lifted her head to search Joff’s gaze.

She would have never dared to address King Robert like this, but Joff was vicious and stupid. It was not hard to fool him. She had learned that a long time ago.

“Will you enter the lists today, your Grace? Will you show us your skill in battle?”

Joff frowned at that. “Mother said it is not fitting. Otherwise I would have easily won a great victory. Isn’t that so, dog?”

The Hound’s mouth twitched upwards. “Against this lot? Why not?”

“Will you joust then, my Lord?” Lady Sansa asked the Hound.

The Hound’s voice was laced with disgust, as he replied. “Wouldn’t be worth my time. This is a tourney of gnats.”

Joff laughed.

“My dog has a fierce bark,” Joff said, a hint of a smile curling on his lips, as he looked at Rhaenys. “Tell me, would you care for a gift? A maiden’s gift?”

The Hound tensed and frowned.

“I do not quite understand, your Grace?”

“You hear me,” Joffrey added coldly. “I heard the Mountain enjoyed himself with Lady Rhaenys’ mother. Mayhaps you share the same taste and I have no use for Lady Rhaenys company now that I have found my true Queen. Mother here says that can’t kill her, but that doesn’t mean I can do with her as I please. I am after all the King.”

Rhaenys tensed and the Hound was deadly silent.

“What do you say, Dog?” Joffrey demanded to know. “Do you want to fuck the _dragonspawn_?”

“She is not to my taste,” the Hound replied through clenched teeth. “I prefer girls with more tits.”

Joffrey roared with laughter and Rhaenys exhaled deeply. She was shivering from head to toe.

“You are truly a man after my own heart,” Joffrey declared and grinned at Rhaenys. “Perhaps I should command you to fight as my champion.”

Not long after, the sound of trumpets rang bright over the baily and Joff relaxed in his seat.

“Ser Meryn Trant!” the herald declared as the knight with the billowing white cloak entered from the west side of the yard. He wore a white plate chased with gold and was mounted on a pale charger.

His enemy was announced promptly. “Ser Hobber of House Redwyne, of the Arbor.”

Ser Hobber trotted from the east, riding on a black stallion, his lance striped burgundy and blue.

There were loud shouts to be heard from the onlookers, as the knights clashed in the center of the yard with a shock of wood and steel.

The lances exploded.

Ser Hobber Redwyne reeled at the impact, yet someone he managed to keep in his seat. Wheeling their horses about at the far end of the lists, the knights tossed their broken lances away and accepted replacements from their squires. Ser Horas Redwyne shouted words of encouragement at his twin, but in the second round Ser Meryn Trant managed to strike Ser Hobber’s chest, hurling him from his saddle.

Ser Horas cursed and came to help his brother back to his feet before leading him from the courtyard.

“Poorly ridden,” Joff declared and touched Lady Sansa’s hand. “The next ones.”

“Ser Balon Swann,” the herald cried. “And Morros of House Slynt, heir to Lord Jonos of Harrenhall.”

“Look at the oaf,” Joff hooted loudly. Morros, was a mere squire and was having a hard time in managing his lance and shied. “He can’t even hold his shield!”

It was true, though. The boy did not know what to do with his shield, as he urged his horse forward. Not long after he was struck by his enemy. With one foot caught in his stirrup the runaway charger was dragging the youth to he end of the lists, his head bouncing against the ground.

Joff laughed only lauder, holding his stomach.

Lady Sansa feigned another smile.

“Tommen,” Joff said when the man had been led from the courtyard. “It seems we found the wrong foemen for you. Even a strawman would be better than this one.”

Next, came Ser Horas Redwyne, who fared better than his brother, but Joff was not satisfied.

“This is poor tourney,” he declared and his lips curled into a cruel smile.

“Gnats,” the Hound added. “Gnats all of them!”

“Lothor Brune, freerider in service of Lord Baelish!” the herald announced again. “Ser Dontos the Red, of House Hollard!”

The freerider appeared moments later, but there was no sign of his opponent.

When the knight finally appeared. He was staggering and cursing. He was clad in a breastplate and plumed helm and little else. His legs were pale and skinny and his manhood flopped, as he chased after his horse.

The onlookers threw insults at him, as he tried to catch his horse, but failed miserably.

By then, everyone was howling with laughter.

And Joff had that glint in his eyes that meant he was about to do something cruel.

In the end, Ser Dontos gave up, sat down in the dirt and removed his plumed helmet.

“I lose!” he shouted. “Fetch me some wine instead.”

Joff stood and grinned viciously. “Bring a gallon from the cellars! I shall be pleased to see him drowned!”

Sansa Stark gasped, Tommen squirmed in his seat and Myrcella fisted her skirt.

“No, you can’t!” Lady Sansa shouted suddenly, but covered her mouth a moment later, realizing her folly.

“What did you say?” Joff asked in utter disbelief.

“That is not what I meant,” Sansa Stark corrected herself immediately and forced her false smile into place. “Ser Dontos is drunk and silly…and useless. He meant no harm.”

Joff scoffed.

“My Queen speaks true!” he declared and waved his hand. “Take the fool away…I shall have him killed on the morrow...”

“He is a fool,” Sansa said and giggled. “You are so clever to see it. He is better fitted to be a fool than a knight, isn’t he? You ought to make him your fool. He doesn’t deserve a merciful death.”

Joff smiled and studied her closely, lifting her hand to his lips.

He chuckled, as he looked back at Ser Dontos.

“Did you hear my lady, Dontos? From this day on, you are my new fool. You can sleep with Moon Boy.”

Ser Dontos, who had finally sobered and kissed the ground.

“Thank you,” he stuttered and was soon carried off by two gold cloaks.

When this was done, Tommen was allowed to ride against his stuffed foeman. There were no more knights left to compete.

They put up the quintain at the far end of the lists while the prince’s pony was being saddled.

Tommen’s opponent was a child-sized leather warrior stuffed with straw and mounted on a pivot, with a shield in one hand and a padded mace in the other.

Ser Santagar, the Red Keep’s master-at-arms, stepped forward and handed Tommen a blunted sword, crafted to fit a child’s hand.

The boy lifted the blade high and cried in a high voice.

“Casterly Rock!”

A heartbeat later, the boy stuck the knight’s shield with a solid blow.

The quintain spun, the padded mace flying around to give the prince a whack on the back of his head.

Yet the Prince seemed unbothered, for he stopped his horse rather abruptly.

Then he jumped from his saddle, his new armor rattling like a bag of old pots.

His sword went flying as well.

“Oh!” Myrcella chirped and ran after her brother, as the doors of the gatehouse were being opened. “Uncle Tyrion is back!”

A column of riders rode through the gates, men garbed in plate and crimson cloaks.

The leader of the men, Lord Tyrion Lannister was nearly squashed by Tommen and Myrcella.

Yet, there was another familiar face beside him.

It was long and solemn, but the boy had grown and he wore a crimson cloak.

“Jon,” she heard Sansa Stark whisper behind her. She was very pale. “Jon.”

As Tyrion Lannister waddled across the courtyard, the grey eyes of Eddard Stark’s bastard met hers before they flickered to his sister.

“Your Grace,” the Imp declared and knelt before the King after he had freed himself from Tommen and Myrcella’s enthusiastic greetings. “I am pleased to be back.”

“You,” Joff snarled with disgust. “I almost forgot that you are still alive.”

“Me,” the Imp repeated and grinned. “I had hoped for a better greeting.”

“They said you were dead,” the Hound remarked.

The dwarf grinned. “I was speaking to the King, not his dog.”

The Hound grunted and Myrcella chuckled, kissing her Uncle’s brow.

“I am glad you are not dead.”

“Me too,” the Imp added, his strange eyes meeting Rhaenys’. “What is this?”

“Why is Princess Rhaenys dressed like a peasant and sitting in the dirt?”

“She is not my Queen,” Joff threw back unhappily. “And she is no longer called Princess. I changed that and gave her a fitting place.”

“Is that so?” Tyrion asked and clucked his tongue, as he pulled a piece of parchment of out of his vest and handed it to the King. “This bears your grandfather’s sigil, your Grace. He named me your Regent and Hand of the King until you are of age. And as Hand of the King, I hereby decree that she will be called by her proper title and is entitled to a bath and fresh clothing. We cannot afford to anger Dorne. If it hasn’t escaped you, your Grace, but we are at war.”

“Only because Uncle Jaime is losing one battle after another and Robb Stark doesn’t seem to care that I wed his sister. He is not only a traitor, but also a fool.”

He had turned to Sansa, as he had said this.

“Isn’t that so, love?”

The girl smiled like a proper puppet, but her blue eyes were filled with, shame as her half-brother looked at her.

The Imp said nothing to that and simply waved his hand Jon Snow.

“And since we are introducing each other, here is a friend of mine and my new sworn sword,” Tyrion explained and grinned. “Ser Jon of Winterfell.”

The bastard’s face revealed nothing as he knelt.

“Your Grace.”

“Winterfell?” Joff asked in confusion. “You are from the North?”

“I am Eddard Stark’s bastard son,” the boy replied bluntly. “And your Queen is my half-sister.”

Joff looked as if someone had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

“You brought Eddard Stark’s bastard here?”

“He is loyal to our cause,” the Imp replied. “He even convinced your grandfather.”

Rhaenys shuddered at that.

Had she misjudged the boy so much? Was it all true…Was he really a traitor?”

Joffrey gave the boy a wary look, eying him from head to toe.

“So, you are a bastard knight? I haven’t seen you in Winterfell. Well, what do you think of your brother and his war against me?”

Jon Snow’s pale lips twisted upwards, his face still unreadable.

“That he is a fool for trying to fight against his rightful King.”

“Do you hate your brother?” Joff asked and leaned forward. “Did he laugh at you for being a bastard?”

“Where was I when your father was gracing Winterfell with his royal presence?” the boy asked, his voice laced with anger.

“No there.”

“Quiet right, your Grace,” the boy replied. “I am a bastard and bastards have always been the natural enemies of their brothers. That is the reason I am here.”

Joff chuckled.

“Well, you are my Uncle’s sword. I have no use for you, boy. I would also prefer if you kept away from my Queen. She seems bothered by your presence.”

“I shall do as you ask,” Jon Snow replied and lowered his head. “Your Grace.”

Tyrion nodded his head in approval. “And I have the first task for you, Jon. Please escort Princess Rhaenys back to her chambers. I am sure Myrcella can show you the way.”

“At once!” the Princess added cheerfully and pulled on Rhaenys arm. “We also have to find new clothing for you.”

“I can go too,” Tommen offered. “I only have to get my sword. I will protect you.”

“I think Ser Jon and your sister can handle that on their own.”

Tommen looked disappointed and Joff frowned.

“Very well, take her with you if you want, but keep her out of my view. I cannot bare to look at the _dragonspawn_.”

Rhaenys refused the bastard’s offered hand, but was glad to return to her old chambers.

Princess Myrcella was quick to call upon her maids to draw a bath for her while Rhaenys sat down in a chair.

The bastard looked at her now and then, but most of the time he kept his gaze fixed on the courtyard below that was visible through the painted windows.

Rhaenys didn’t want to speak to him.

He had most likely tried to murder his cripple brother and he was a friend to the Imp, who was not the worst of the Lannisters, but still a Lannister.

When the door opened, she hoped to find the girls with her bath, but instead she found the Imp.

He cracked a pitiful smile at her.

“You will soon be free of my presence, Princess,” he declared and kissed her hand despite the dirt. “But I have to ask? Has Joff…Has Joff tried to harm you?”

_He wanted the Hound to fuck me_, she wanted to shout back at him, but that would be no use. The Imp was not her friend and he couldn’t be trusted.

No one in this rotten place could be trusted.

“No.”

“That is good to hear,” the Imp said and shifted his attention back to Ser Jon. “Jon will keep an eye on you. I promise…no further harm shall come to you. You can no longer be Queen, but I shall find a better match for you, Princess. I would be thankful if you were disposed to write a letter to your kin to tell them that you are well.”

Rhaenys gave a polite nod.

“I shall do so, Lord Hand.”

The Imp said nothing and smiled at the bastard.

Ser Jon returned the smile, but it was laced with a sadness she hadn’t seen earlier.

“Lord Hand,” the boy said politely. “I wondered if I could see Arya?”

The Imp shook his head.

“She is kept under house arrest, but I think we should wait a few days. You know why.”

A crestfallen expression washed over his face, making his face appear longer than it was.

“I know.”

…


	21. Aegon

**Aegon**

Sweat was running down his temples, as he was sipping on his cup of iced wine that was served by Ser Simon Toyne’s squire, a short and red-haired boy that went by the name Watkyn.

Toyne looked just as Aegon recalled him: he had an ugly face, a big nose and a crooked jaw. Yet, his smile was bright as ever.

“You have grown, my boy,” Toyne said and jerked his head at Daenerys, who was seated beside Aegon, a grim expression showing on her face and her arms crossed in front of her. Even so, she looked beautiful as ever, though Aegon wished she had put on of the many dresses he had gifted her. Jon Connington had commented on it this very morning and Toyne seemed also a little perplexed to find his Queen dressed in a wide-cut tunic, riding breeches and sandals. “And you are welcome as well, Princess Daenerys.”

Daenerys snorted and didn’t even made any attempt to take a sip from her cup of wine.

“I see, you don’t even recall me, do you, Lord Commander Toyne? Remember the time you dined with me and my brother and made fun of us? We spent the rest of the night sleeping on the street.”

The men seated beside Toyne chuckled, but Toyne simply shook his head.

“Your brother was a fool,” he said and took a sip from his cup. “Thus, we treated him like one.”

Aegon shuddered when he heard this, but Daenerys was the one who voiced her thoughts openly.

“Fool or not, he was a Prince of House Targaryen!” she snarled and nearly threw the cup over, as she rose to her feet, her fists clenched in anger.

“Daenerys…,” Aegon said and was about to lean over to touch her arm, but she pushed him away, her violet eyes meeting his. They were burning with rage and Aegon realized that he needed to act or he would lose the little trust he had built with her in the last weeks.

“Daenerys is right,” Aegon said and cleared his throat, as he shifted his attention back to Toyne. “I want you to apologize.”

Toyne stared back at him in confusion and the men behind him snickered, but a wave of Toyne’s hand was enough to make them stop and send them out of the tent.

Only Watkyn stayed, watching them from the sidelines.

Toyne chuckled. “Why should I?”

“Because Illyrio promised you a hefty sum of money on my behalf,” Aegon said and bared his teeth. “And because it is unseemly that a grown man makes fun of begging children.”

Toyne laughed and leaned back in his chair, putting one leg over the other, as he measured Aegon across the table.

His lingering gaze made Aegon uncomfortable, but he was no longer a boy, but a King. He needed to act like one. So much he realized when he noticed Jon Connington's silent stare.

“I want you to apologize,” Aegon insisted again. “Or is that too much to expect?”

Toyne chuckled again and leaned forward.

“Give me one reason, _your Grace_?” he asked mockingly. “The way I see it, you have more need of me than I of you.”

He was not wrong, but Aegon couldn’t allow himself such weakness.

“You are wrong,” Aegon countered and touched the pommel of his word. “But I am also your only way home. So, unless you want to spend the rest of your days roaming through these lands, you better apologize.”

Toyne said nothing for a while and took another sip from his cup. Then, he leaned forward and looked at Daenerys.

“Very well, your Grace. I apologize for my rudeness. I was _very_ drunk.”

Daenerys bit her lips and gave a sharp nod, as she sat back down into her chair.

“What about my brother?” she asked and lifted her chin. ”Can I also expect an apology when you meet him again? He is rather proud.”

Toyne sighed and rolled his eyes, as he looked over to Aegon.

“_Must_ I?” he asked with a hint of mockery.

Aegon nodded his head. “I fear you _must_.”

“Very well,” Toyne said and chuckled. It was obvious that he was amused by his Queen’s antics. “I shall apologize to your brother when I see him again.”

Then, his gaze flickered back to Aegon. “Speaking of home. When shall we sail?”

“The sooner the better,” Aegon added eagerly. “My Uncle Viserys has already sailed for Westeros to meet his betrothed, Princess Arianne Martell. If we are lucky, my Uncle will allow us to land in Dorne and then we shall have the Dornish spears on our side.”

“Not a bad place to land,” Toyne said, his lips twisting upwards. “Let’s say, Doran Martell declares for us? What about the other kingdoms?”

“According to Lord Varys’ last letter, Lord Eddard Stark was executed as a traitor for trying to depose his _rightful_ King,” Jon Connington said, his voice laced with happiness. Aegon recalled how he had smiled when they had received Lord Varys’ _good_ tidings from across the sea. “The Starks are already waging a war against the Lannister and it is only a matter of time until the Baratheons join the bloody struggle. They say that Renly has wed the Tyrell girl and is opposing his brother’s claim to the throne. A good thing for us, I say.”

“Perhaps,” Toyne agreed and scratched his chin, as he pondered over the matter. “But Renly’s allegiance with the Tyrells also means it is very _likely_ that Renly will win. What about Stannis? Do the Stormlords support him?”

“Not many,” Aegon said. “At least, that is what the report said. Well, I think that only makes it more important for us to finally sail _home_ as soon as it can be arranged.”

“That should be no problem,” Toyne quipped in amusement. “Ships are easy to come by if you are prepared to pay. Especially, here in Volantis. The more important question is: Are you able to pay?”

“We are,” Aegon replied. “Illyrio has given us checks from the Iron Bank. They are all underwritten by the ambassador of the Iron Bank in Pentos.”

Toyne nodded his head and spread his arms wide. “Good, for _us_. We shall sail at your convenience, your Grace, but now we ought to eat. I have asked one of our cooks to prepare a _fine_ meal.”

Aegon was pleased to hear that, but he also had the feeling that Toyne was not taking him all too seriously.

Still, Aegon remained polite and accepted the invitation.

And Toyne was right. The meal had been better than anything he had since eaten since he had left Illyrio’s mansion. They had feasted on fresh fish drenched in with white sauce and fruity wine from Norvos.

Aegon had eaten aplenty, but Daenerys had barely eaten anything. It seemed only the sweet cakes had been to her liking.

“Are you sick?” Aegon asked her after she had joined him after her daily bath. “You have barely eaten anything.”

Daenerys eyed him with obvious surprise, her silver hair still wet from her bath and her long pale dress hanging limp from her form. It took all of Aegon’s concentration not to stare at her bosom.

“I am surprised you noticed it. You were too occupied to plan _your _war.”

Aegon sighed, not knowing what to do or to say. Daenerys had every right to be angry with him, but he had hoped she would warm up to him _now_ that her pestering brother was gone.

“It is _our_ war,” Aegon insisted her after he had risen from his seat next to the window. They had taken residence in _the Golden Horse_, a fine tavern near the Great Bridge, but Aegon took no pleasure in the comfort and neither did Daenerys. By now, the enemy must be aware of his existence. He feared assassins coming for him every day, but perhaps that was good. It would give him a taste how Daenerys and Viserys must have felt. Thinking of the past made him only angrier that he had never attempted to help them. He had put too much trust into Lord Connington. “You should know that.”

“Didn’t feel like that. Toyne only apologized to me because you asked it of him.”

“And you don’t like that?” Aegon asked and came to stand in front of her.

“I don’t like being a playball in another man’s game. I also don’t think we should trust _Blackfyre_ supporters.”

Aegon sighed and brushed his hand through his mane of silver hair. “Yet, they are the only ones that can help us.”

“Perhaps,” Daenerys said. “But that doesn’t mean I have to _trust_ them.”

“True,” Aegon agreed and sat back down. “And I am not asking of you to like them. Just be polite to them.”

“I see,” Daenerys said and walked over to the bed. She eyed him suspiciously. “Will you sleep here?”

Aegon was surprised by her question. His first thought was to agree, but then he recalled what he had told her in Pentos, namely that he would not bed her until she would taken a liking to him.

“Not tonight,” Aegon said and rose back to his feet to walk to the door, a sudden idea causing him to stop and to look back at Daenerys. “But perhaps you would like to accompany me to the harbor on the morrow? There is a market and you could bring your handmaids to keep you company after _we_ have taken a look at the ships.”

Daenerys gave him another suspicious look. “_We_? Truly?”

Aegon cracked a smile and lowered his head in reverence .”_Truly_.”

The next day was as hot as the day before. Unlike Aegon, Daenerys didn’t seem to mind the heat. She was smiling and constantly whispering to her handmaids who had all put on new dresses, most of them gifts from Aegon. Jon Connington had frowned at that, but Daenerys had merely smiled at him, telling him that the ladies of a Queen ought to look proper. Lord Connington had accepted her answer with the same look of displeasure as ever, but Aegon had been amused.

Seeing Daenerys smile also assured him that he did the right thing taking her with him.

“This on is _particularly_ beautiful,” Daenerys remarked beside him. “It is a Lysean galley. I can tell by the colorful mast.”

“You have good eyes, mistress,” the shipowner said approvingly. He was short, bald and his blue beard was so long, he had to tuck it into his belt. “This is indeed a Lysean galley. Her name is _Lady Sweet_. She is a true beauty, isn’t she?”

Daenerys nodded her head and brushed her silver hair over her shoulder.

“A true beauty,” she agreed and pointed at another galley. This one was painted black and slimmer in build. “And this one must be from Yi Ti.”

“You are right again, _mistress_,” the man confirmed approvingly and bared his golden teeth.

Jon Connington and Harry Strickland, Toyne’s second-in-command, looked as if they simply wanted to continue with the negotiations.

“As we said before,” Jon Connington said to the man, but looked at Aegon. “We have already acquired thirty ships from two other buyers. From you we would need the nine ships we have seen and this one, in total ten. How much do you demand?”

The man grinned and stroked his beard, as he seemed to calculate the numbers in his head.

“That would make about 2000 gold coins, half of them payable now.”

Jon Connington looked very unhappy and Aegon knew why. They had paid only 1500 for ten ships from another ship owner, but then haggling was common practice in the Free Cities.

“1600,” Aegon answered for Jon Connington. “”2000 is too much.”

The man frowned, but didn’t make the impression, as if he was ready to give in. “1900.”

“Too much,” Aegon replied and shook his head.”1700 or we will go elsewhere.”

“1850,” the man replied with a sigh. “This is my last offer or you are welcome to go elsewhere, my friends.”

Aegon sighed and Jon Connington grumbled beside him. “1850 it is.”

And thus they had acquired their ships, but there were still many more things they would have to acquire, like rations for their men and coin needed to be laid aside to bribe themselves into the heart of certain lords or at least that is what Lysono Maar, the paymaster of the Golden Company had implied when he had discussed the matter with Strickland, Toyne, Aegon and Jon Connington.

Aegon was glad when he could make good on his promise and take Daenerys to market.

Accompanying them was Duck, who eyed the buzzing place calmly while Daenerys looked as if she had come _home_ after a long absence.

Her violet eyes shone brightly, as they walked past the merchant stalls and many more pellicular sights. There were spell singers, merchants from Yi Ti, who were wearing strange monkey hats, shadowbinders from Asshai, seamen from Ib who were selling ivory and colorful drinking horns, Qartheen and Lysean spice traders, tall and strangely-eyed men from Lengii, who were selling all kinds of silvery belts and weapons...

Despite, having been raised on a pole-boat on the Rhoyne, Aegon had come here only once or twice in his life, for Jon Connington had been too afraid to allow him to go among the _common_ people.

It was strange, but it filled his heart with jealousy when he saw how _familiar_ Daenerys was with all this.

“I once bought one of these strange hats from Yi Ti,” Daenerys said and pointed at the men with the monkey hats. “But the hat was too big for my head.”

“What happened to this hat of yours?” Aegon asked in amusement, as they passed the stall of slave trader with beautiful Lysean girls. Aegon felt pity for them. He averted his gaze and looked back at Daenerys, whose’s smile had faded when she had laid eyes on these girls.

“I had to leave the hat behind,” she said and looked at another stall. “Not that it matters. Even Viserys said the hat looked _foolish_.”

“Viserys knows nothing,” Aegon said and followed after her, Duck always looming over him like a shadow. “Why not buy another one?”

Surprisingly, Daenerys chuckled. “Sure and then I am going to wear it instead of a crown? Viserys would never speak to me again.”

“You shouldn’t fret about Viserys,” Aegon assured her, as the smell of roasted meat entered his nose when they passed the stall of a young woman, who was roasting sausages over a sizzeling brazier. “He will have to accept that not everything has to go according to his expectations.”

“Your cousin will have her hands full with him,” Daenerys said and eyed the sausages with great curiosity. “I had a taste of these before. They are very good, but also very spicy. The woman who sold them to me as a little girl said it is a specialty from Dorne.”

This roused Aegon’s curiosity. He knew even less about Dorne than Westeros, despite being its mother’s home. Of course, he could recite facts from dusty books, but that was not knowing.

“Truly?” Aegon asked and noticed that the woman had lowered her veil. “Well, then I think we should have a taste? What do you think, Duck?”

Duck yawned and brushed his hand over the pommel of his sword. “My stomach is always ready for food.”

“What about you, Irri and Jhiqui?” Daenerys asked the girls. “And you, Doreah?”

Doreah laughed. “I remember these. My mother used to buy them for me.”

“They will make your tongue burn,” Irri added and grinned. “Like fire.”

“It is known,” Jhiqui added with a grin.

It was all the answer Aegon needed and soon the woman was roasting five sausages and a handful of onions over the brazier, the breeze blowing the smoky aroma into his face.

Aegon’s stomach grumbled at the smell and he realized in that moment that he hadn’t eaten anything since he had broken his fast in the morning.

He enjoyed the taste of the food and Daenerys and her girls seemed to agree. They were asking for another portion soon enough and then for another. Aegon was glad he had brought enough coin, but after the third sausage he had to stop, for his mouth was burning like the seven hells.

“Here,” Duck offered and handed him his wineskin. “Drink…it will help to drive away the burning sensation.”

Aegon did as he was told and drank greedily, some of the sweet liquid spilling unto his clothing.

“You should drink as well, Princess,” Duck told Daenerys. “Or you won’t be able to feel your tongue on the morrow.”

“I thank you, good Ser,” Daenerys replied and took a sip before she handed the wineskin to her ladies. Each took a sip before Daenerys was distracted by the appearance of a strange woman.

Aegon turned around and saw a woman in long red robes, a strange mask covering her face.

“She is walking towards us,” Daenerys remarked softly. “Do you think she knows us?”

“I know you, Daenerys Targaryen,” the woman said and lowered her head. Then, her star-like eyes flickered to Aegon. “And you…Aegon Targaryen.”

Aegon was taken back by the woman’s blunt answer, his hand quickly darting to his sword.

“How do you know us? Are you friend or enemy?”

“A friend,” the woman assured him. “My name is Quaithe of Asshai.”

“And what do you want, Quaithe of Asshai?” Daenerys asked suspiciously.

“I want to warn you,” the woman replied cryptically. “The both of you. The enemy is hiding in the shadows and to escape them you must leave the past behind you. Beware of the men with the blue lips.”

And just as the words had left her mouth, she had disappeared with a whirl of red silk.

“What kind of a _crazy _woman was that?” Duck asked.

“I think we should go back,” Aegon agreed and shifted his attentiton back to Daenerys, who was still staring into the direction where the woman had disappeared to. “What do you think?”

Daenerys shrugged her shoulders. “I _suppose_ we should go.”

It was late in the evening when they reached the tavern. By then, Aegon was drenched with sweat and thus he was glad to be able to take a quick wash in the bathhouse in company of Duck.

“The girl is warming up to you,” Duck remarked and brushed his hand through his red hair. “You should try bedding her.”

Aegon leaned back against the colorful stone wall. “I don’t think that would be a good idea. I first need to win her trust.”

It was rather late when Aegon left Duck to return to his chamber, but he decided otherwise and stepped out to the gardens after he had glimpsed Daenerys’ silver hair through the glass windows.

She was dressed in her white night gown, her silver hair streaming freely down her shoulders.

She sat cross-legged in the grass and was cradling one of the eggs Magister Illyrio had gifted her on her wedding day. This egg was black as obsidian and covered with swirls of crimson. Aegon couldn’t help but to marvel at their beauty, but he knew it was a folly. The eggs were dead. They would have to retake the Iron Throne with swords and not with dragon fire.

“They are beautiful,” Aegon said and caused Daenerys to look up. “The eggs I mean.”

He thought her beautiful too, but he knew she would only be upset with him if he remarked upon it.

“They are not only beautiful, they are _alive_,” she told him and showed him the egg. “Touch it and feel for yourself.”

Aegon nodded his head and touched the eggs, his hands brushing over the rough surface.

His surprise must have shown on his face, for Daenerys was smiling.

“They are _warm_, aren’t they?”

“They are!” Aegon gasped and jerked his head at the two other eggs placed in the ebony box. “Do the others feel the _same_ to you?”

“Aye,” Daenerys confirmed and picked the other eggs out of the box. “See for yourself.”

Aegon knelt down beside her and touched the other eggs. The golden-and-green one was also pleasantly warm, but the pale one was the hottest of them all. It almost felt as if he was touching the surface of a brazier.

“I didn’t even know….,” Aegon said in admiration and pulled his hand way. “Do they also feel _different_ to you?”

Daenerys’ smile was a bright as a star. “They feel indeed _different_ for me. The black one is always the hottest for me. Which one feels the hottest for you?”

“The pale one,” Aegon said and touched the egg once more. “I never thought it possible.”

“They are alive,” Daenerys insisted and placed them back into the ebony box where they belonged. “And there _must_ be a way to hatch them.”

“Perhaps,” Aegon said skeptically and balanced himself on the balls of his hand. Above him spread a starry sky and a fat moon was laughing down at him. “But if there is a way why has no one accomplished it until now?”

“Good question,” Daenerys mused.

“Indeed,” Aegon said and yawned. He felt exhausted and rose back to his feet. “But I doubt we will find out today. I am in dire need of rest. You should go to bed as well.”

Daenerys smiled and jerked her head at the guardsmen. “I am not tired. I shall stay a while longer.”

_I am no King_, he realized, as he climbed up the stairs to his chambers_. I am a Dragon Prince without dragons._

He was quick to discard his clothing and sat down on the hard bed, his sword always close by his side. Outside, Duck and their guardsmen were standing downstairs, but Aegon couldn’t help but to be afraid.

He had been relatively safe on the _Shy Maid_, but here everything was different.

It was not hard deduce who he was.

Still, the wine he had consumed didn’t fail to lull him into sleep, the sounds of the tavern below echoing in his ears.

Yet, his peace was soon disturbed by the rattling of the door.

The first sound had been subtle, but the second one was much louder, causing Aegon to sit up abruptly.

His heart was racing, as he swept his gaze through the dimly-lit room.

Another, much louder sound followed shortly after and by then he was back on his feet, his hand darting to the sword leaned against his bed.

He didn’t even bother to put on his boots and pushed the door open to step out to the corridor.

When he looked down the stairs he found everything in utter chaos.

Duck and Jon Connington were leaning over an armored man, his blade resting on his neck and four or six men littered the ground, bleeding out, as a handful of onlookers watched from the common room and the gardens outside.

“What do you want here?” Jon Connington demanded to know sharply. “Who sent you?”

The man choked out blood and moved no more.

Aegon noticed that another man was staring at him, as he climbed down the steps. Said man was tall and his white beard made him appear older than he was, for his body was still in good shape. He looked very athletic, as if he had been training his entire life.

Aegon didn’t know what to make of the man’s staring, but his first urge was to speak with Connington and Duck.

“What happened?”

“Your…,” Jon Connington began, but stopped himself abruptly, his gaze darting back to the old man, who was being restrained by the two guardsmen. “These men tried to reach your rooms. Fortunately, we were able to stop them.”

Aegon had thought so much and smiled. “Then, I am glad nothing has happened to all of you.”

Then, he shifted his attention back to the old man. “Is he one of them?”

“No,” Jon Connington said darkly and regarded the man more closely. “This man is a _traitor_.”

Aegon didn’t know what to say and eyed the man curiously. “Who is he?”

“He is no common old man,” Jon Connington explained. “This is Ser Barristan Selmy, a man who had sworn to serve House Targaryen and bent the knee to the usurper.”

Aegon was taken back by this revelation. He had heard about the man’s actions, but he had not expected him to come here to kill him.

“You wanted to kill me?” Aegon asked the old knight.

The old man dropped his blue gaze to the ground. “I am a traitor. I do not even deny that truth, but I did not come to kill you. It was Lord Varys who sent me here after I was dismissed from the Kingsguard. After he had told me about you, I couldn’t hesitate to find you. I watched you from the distance. When these men appeared I helped fighting them.”

Aegon opened his mouth in disbelief, his gaze darting from Ser Barristan back to Jon Connington. “Is it true? Did he help you?”

“He did,” Duck said for Jon Connington. “And he killed three of them. A hell of a sword hand for an old man like that.”

“He is still a _traitor_!” Jon Connington hissed and searched Aegon’s gaze. “Your grace…you must…,” he began, but Aegon silenced him with a wave of his hand when he noticed Doreah’s presence at the top of the stairs. At first, he had mistaken her for Daenerys, but her hair was more golden than silver.

“Doreah,” Aegon said and acknowledged her presence with a nod of his head. “Where is Daenerys?”

“She is not here,” the girl replied fearfully. “She never came to bed.”

…


	22. Robb

**Robb**

The crown resting atop his head felt too heavy, but Robb had to admit that the smith had done good work. It was an open circlet hammered with bronze and incensed with the runes of the First Men, surmounted by nine black iron pikes wrought in the shapes of longswords. His crown had no gold and silver and gemstones, but that was only fitting. Bronze and iron were the metals of winter, stark and strong against the icy cold.

Despite its beauty, Robb couldn’t help but to push the crown back and forth, hoping it would ease away the discomfort he felt.

It was no use. And perhaps that was only fitting, for Aegon the Conqueror himself had once said that a crown ought not to rest easy on one’s brow.

When the prisoner was brought before him, he asked Olyvar to bring his sword and laid it on his knees to show this Lannister man that these were no peace talks.

The prisoner was Ser Cleos Frey, a man who had inherited little of the Lannisters. He had neither golden hair nor green eyes, but a weak chin and watery blue eyes.

The man looked afraid and trembling, as Greywind was sniffing at the man’s neck. Robb could not blame him for his fear, for the man had partaken in the Battle of the Whispering Woods and had seen how his loyal wolf had killed a dozen of Lannister men.

“You may rise, Ser Cleos,” Robb said.

“Thank you,” the prisoner replied and ws about to continue, but the Greatjon cut him off.

“Your Grace,” the Greajon he insisted. “He is a King.”

Robb frowned when her heard this. He was not yet comfortable with the title or the burdens that came with it. He also was not sure whether declaring independence was something his father would have wanted, yet he had to keep his lords in line and a common goal was the best way to achieve such a feat.

“Your Grace,” Ser Cleos corrected himself quickly and dropped his head in reverence. “I shall not forget it again.”

“Good,” Robb said and waved his hand at Olyvar who brought the sealed parchment he had asked to be prepare by the Maester’s hands. “And now listen well, Ser Cleos. I freed you so you may go to your King and deliver this offer of peace. I shall also offer thirty men to accompany you on this travel to King’s Landing.”

Ser Cleos nodded his head in understanding.

Robb didn’t smile. “I want your vow on this.”

Ser Cleos lowered his head and placed is hand on his chest. “I vow to do as you ask, your Grace.”

“Everyone has heard you,” his Uncle Edmure warned the man. “Go against your vow and everyone will know you are forsworn.”

Ser Cleos nodded his head again. “I shall not forget.”

“Good,” Robb said and leaned back in his chair, Greywind laying down beside his feet. “Tell your King that there shall be no war between us if he fulfills the terms laid down in this agreement.”

Robb unrolled the paper Olyvar had offered to him and read out the terms loudly.

“First, I ask of King Joffrey to return my sister Arya to me. I want her to be brought to White Harbour by ship and when I have received news of her well-being I shall free the King’s kinsmen, Lord William and Tion Frey. Secondly, I want my father’s bones and sword_ Ice _returned to me so he may rest in Winterfell, as he would have wished. Third, I want the King to command his grandfather Lord Tywin to release the lords and knights he has taken captive during the Battle of the Greenfork and in return I shall free Ser Jaime Lannister for a handsome ransom laid down in this document. Fourth, the King must renounce all claims to the North and the lands watered by the River Trident and its vassal streams.”

_The King in the North_, it bellowed in his ears, but Robb took no joy in it. On the contrary, he wanted to be home at Winterfell, playing with his wooden swords again. The last battles had taken his taste for war.

Even so, there was no turning back. He had to play the role that was handed to him by fate or perhaps the gods?

“You did well,” his mother said quietly after most of the men had left the Great Hall. She was distant to him these days, but that was no surprise. They had another quarrel shortly after the news of Sansa’s marriage to Joffrey had reached them. She had wanted him to accept the marriage and bend the knee, but Robb couldn’t do that or his lords would think him weak. Sansa was his sister, but she was now a Lannister and therefore any child born from here would also be a Lannister. Arya was another matter, but she was far too young to be wed. All he could hope for was that she was well.

“I am not sure,” Robb said and handed his crown to Olyvar. “Bring it back where it belongs.”

Then, he turned to his Uncle Edmure, who had been glowering throughout the entire ceremony.

“They won’t fulfill your terms, nephew,” he said and leaned on the table. “I say, we better prepare for war and march upon Harrenhall.”

“And what use would that be?” his mother asked. “Harrenhall is no minor castle and not easily taken.”

“Maybe, but it is better than sitting here and doing nothing. Our troops are dwindling every day.”

“By your command,” Robb reminded his Uncle. “You allowed your lords to return to their castles. I asked you to refrain from doing that.”

“I did, but I cannot expect of them to sit here while the Lannisters pillage their lands. I am their lord as long as my lord father lies abed.”

“You are right,” Robb said. “You are their lord.”

When Lord Edmure had left, he shifted his attention back to his mother. He read displeasure in her face.

“You should have offered the Kingslayer for Arya. That would have been a fair price.”

“In the eyes of Tywin Lannister,” Robb replied and ruffled his hand through his hair. “But not in the eyes of my lords. They would not abide by it.”

“And what if the Kingslayer dies?” his mother asked. “Rickard Karstark is already vying for his head. I can see it in the way he is looking at him whenever the guards allow him to go outside for his daily walk. “What will happen them? Do you think Queen Cersei will not pay us back for that?”

“I cannot control everything,” Robb said. “And I cannot bend the knee. Sansa made her choice. You have read her letter.”

“A letter most likely forced upon her,” his mother. “Sansa is a little girl…if you want to accuse someone accuse the bastard. I told you, he betrayed us all…he is now…,” she was about to continue, Robb cut her off.

“Jon is no traitor. I am sure there must be another explanation for his actions, mother.”

“Stop being so blind,” his mother countered. “He is with the Lannisters.”

“So is Sansa…who is willingly opening her legs for Joffrey,” Robb snapped at her. “A thought that disgusts me more than anything, but I cannot change it. Perhaps it would be best for you to leave, mother. Theon is leaving on the morrow for Seaguard. I bid you to go with him.

His mother felt silent. She looked as if Robb had poured a bucket of cold water over her head.

“You know my thoughts on your plans for Theon,” she replied stubbornly, her mouth a thin line. “I do not trust him and neither should you.”

“I have made my decision,” Robb said and exhaled deeply. “And I mean it….I want you to go to Winterfell, mother. Rickon and Bran have more need of you than I. I am no little boy anymore, but a man grown. I cannot have my mother sit by me as I command men at war.”

Robb knew he had gone too far, when he saw the disappointment in his mother’s blue gaze and her trembling lips.

“I didn’t know that you thought me so _useless_.”

“I don’t think you _useless_, mother,” Robb replied and softened his tone. “But we are constantly at odds with each other’s throats. My lords are already talking and the Blackfish ignores me, acting as if I am some unruly child instead of a King. And sadly, you are the reason for that. I cannot allow that impression.”

His mother nodded her head and brushed her braid back over her shoulder.

“I accept your opinion, but I can be of help,” his mother countered. “You will have need allies if you want to defeat the Lannisters. Let me speak with Stannis.”

“Stannis?” Robb asked and frowned. He had considered that, but then the man had done naught to help his father when he had need of him. No, all he had done was hiding at Dragonstone and sent out ravens to spread the supposed_ illegitimacy_ of Joffrey. “What use would that be? He has his vassal lords at best. The reports say many of the Stormlords are supporting his brother. That alone tells me how much men are willing to accept him as their King. Besides, I don’t think he will look kindly upon me for declaring myself King.”

“All you said is true, but he is still the _rightful _King,” his mother replied. “And he will think you a traitor.”

“So will Renly, so will Joffrey,” Robb replied.

His mother bit her lips and lifted her cup to her lips. She had left it untouched until now. “What about Renly? He has the might of Highgarden behind him? It is worth a try, isn’t it?”

Robb sighed and patted Greywind’s head when he drew closer to rub his wet nose against his shoulder.

He would rather see his mother safe in Riverrun while he was waging war in the Westerlands, but he knew how stubborn she could be. Perhaps this task would satisfy her desire to help and in the best case it would bring Renly to their cause.

“Very well,” Robb said and forced a smile over his lips. “I shall send you to meet with Renly. Tell him, that I will accept him as King of the Seven Kingdoms if he vanquishes the Lannisters and brings me my sisters, but that I will not bend the knee to him.”

“He will not like that,” his mother said, but a hesitant smile crossed over her lips. “But I shall try my best.”

“There is another thing…,” Robb began and was about to open his mouth when the door opened and Olyvar Frey stumbled into the Great Hall. His Uncle Edmure was beside him.

“What is it?”

“Riders have come, your Grace,” Olyvar explained. “A certain Ser Jon Redfort and Lord Yohn Royce of Runestone. They wish to speak to you at once.”

Robb didn’t know if he should be pleased or afraid to find them here.

“Bring them,” Robb said and jerked his head at his Uncle. “We should prepare some meal.”

Edmure shrugged his shoulders. “I shall call for the servants, nephew.”

Not long after, Robb found himself before a cackling hearth, the air filled with roasted meat, sweet wine and soft bread.

Yet, despite his empty stomach, Robb felt no urge to eat. Neither did the men in front of him. Ser Jon Redfort was circling his cup in his hand and Lord Royce was frowning at his filled plate.

Robb recalled him as a strong man with a booming voice who had accompanied his son to the Wall scarcely two years ago.

Now he looked as if he had aged by two decades.

“I thank you for coming here to see me, Lord Royce and Ser Redfort,” Robb said at last and took a sip from his cup. Then, he spoke again. “Though I wish the _circumstances_ were better.”

“_Circumstances_,” Royce grumbled. “These were not mere _circumstances_. The Lannister dogs murdered my son!”

“I heard about his passing,” Robb said hesitatingly and searched Ser Redfort’s face across the table. “You were riding with him, weren’t you? As did my brother…,” he trailed off.

“Aye, your Grace,” Ser Redfort confirmed. “Your brother rode with us and now he is with the Lannisters.”

Robb sucked in a deep breath. He didn’t want to believe it. “Was he taken captive?”

“No,” Ser Redfort replied and leaned back in his chair, the curling flames casting shadows over his face. “Your brother went willingly, but for other reasons than you might think. He told me that he wishes to free your sisters.”

Robb felt relief and shock washing over him.

“Are you sure?”

“I am sure,” Ser Redfort confirmed and leaned forward to search. “I thought it _utter_ madness, but then I had no power to stop him. I also felt it was my duty to bring Andar home. He was my friend.”

“I do not blame you,” Robb said. “I know my brother well. If he puts something into his head he will go through with it until the bitter end. Gods, I don’t want to think about it. Why would the Lannisters even allow my brother in their presence?”

“That I do not know,” Ser Jon said and exchanged a quiet look with Lord Royce. “But your brother defended the Imp against your Aunt. Perhaps the Imp took a liking to him.”

“Perhaps,” Royce said at last, finally finding his voice. It was heavy and full of sadness. “I know it is not much of a consolation, but your father was my friend as well, your Grace. We often went hunting together in the Eyrie. I was not as close with him as King Robert, but I feel I should have done more to help him. Well, now I think I have both a _justification_ and the _will_ to do it.”

Robb was surprised to hear this, but also wary. By going against his Aunt’s commands Royce was breaking his vows to his liege lord, a deed not lightly done.

“My Lord,” Robb said. “What you propose is _treason_.”

“Treason my ass!” Royce grumbled. “The Lannister dog _murdered_ my son. Truth be told, I cannot give you the Vale, but I can give you five-thousand men and Ser Jon Redfort here is prepared to pledge a thousand more on his father’s behalf. And perhaps more of these cowardly lords of the Vale will follow in the near future. What do you say, your Grace? Will you have me?”

Robb was silent for a long time, but he knew what he had to do. This offer was too good to refuse.

Thus, he lowered his head in acceptance.

“I thank you for your kind offer. I am pleased to have you at my side.”

…


	23. Jon

**Jon**

Jon’s heart nearly stopped when he entered the small chamber that was Arya’s prison. Three days had gone by since he had arrived in King’s Landing, three days of waiting to see his sister. True, he had already seen Sansa, but he didn’t know what to make of her situation. He had been shocked when had heard that she had been wed to Joffrey and willingly at that or that was at least his first impression.

Yet, now after he had seen her, Jon wasn’t so sure anymore. His sister had wept, so much he could see. Whatever love she had once harbored for her husband had seemingly disappeared.

Even so, he had yet to speak to Sansa.

“Not for long,” Ser Meryn Trant grumbled at Jon, his always sour expression rousing feelings of anger rousing inside him. “The Imp said so.”

Jon knew why Tyrion had to act like this, but it was still a burden to play the obedient Lannister dog.

“I am aware what the Lord Hand told you,” Jon said and sucked in a deep breath when the door closed behind him, but the peace didn’t last long.

“Jon!” the bright voice of his sister, caused him to turn around and a heartbeat later she was hanging from his shoulders like a monkey. “Jon! Are you a dream?”

Laughter spilled from Jon’s lips, as he pulled Arya into a tight embrace, her shaggy brown hair tickling his cheek.

The smell was even worse, but Jon couldn’t care less. He was just relieved to have her back in his arms.

“It is truly me,” Jon assured her and placed her back on the ground. Then, he knelt and ruffled her shaggy hair. It was greasy and as dusty as her dress. He also saw stains of blood on her torn skirt and there were also bruises on her neck and arms. The sight alone was enough to make his blood boil, but now was not the time for bursts of anger. He had to think clearly and act with reason or they would not be able to escape this hellish place. “It is no lie, little sister.”

Arya grinned and nuzzled her head against his shoulder, but a heartbeat later she pulled away again, her grey eyes growing wide in realization.

“How did you get here?” she asked in disbelief and touched his crimson cloak. “And you are wearing Lannister colors!”

“Sshsh!” Jon was quick to silence her and put his finger on her mouth. “Not so loud! I am sure people are listening!”

“But you are wearing crimson,” Arya whispered. “Why would you?”

“It was the only way I could get here,” Jon whispered into her ear, as he carried her to the bed and sat her down. He knelt down beside the bed and brushed her hair out of her face. “I am no Lannister man, I am loyal to Robb.”

“So you are only pretending?” Arya asked in a low voice and leaned forward to wrap her arms around his shoulders. “Will I be allowed to leave this place? I can’t stand being here.”

“I shall try,” Jon promised and pulled his cloak from his shoulders. Arya was only wearing her tattered dress, her arms bare. “But to accomplish our common goal you must do something for me.”

“What?” she asked quickly. “Tell me and I shall do everything you need, brother.”

“Good,” Jon replied, though he knew his sister would start protesting when she heard what he wanted from her. “But you won’t like it. I want you to act like a proper lady.”

Arya gave him a disbelieving look and bit her lips. “A Lady? How can you ask that of me? Jon!”

“I am asking you to do it because I will need your help,” Jon replied and placed his hands on her shoulders to press her down unto the bed. “And you can’t be of help to me if you are here locked up in this room.”

Arya nodded her head in understanding and grabbed his hand, her thin fingers wrapping tightly around his. Her hands were shaking and her eyes were wet. “I shall do everything…even stitch. I just want to get away from this stinking city and Sansa and everything. I hate them all!”

“I know,” Jon said and pulled his hand free from her grip to cradle her face between his hands. “But we cannot show our true feelings, not until we have left this rotten place: you, me and Sansa.”

Arya shook her head in disbelief, her face a grimace of anger.

“She betrayed father! She married…,” Arya was about to shout, but Jon was quick to cover his sister’s mouth with his hand.

She was struggling against him and a heartbeat later she kicked him hard, making him cry out in pain.

“I know what she did,” Jon whispered into her ear and kissed her cheek. “But she is our sister and she didn’t look particularly happy with her choice. Your mother and Robb would never forgive me if I left her here.”

“You are being stupid, Jon,” Arya whispered. “Sansa told the Queen about father’s plans….she is a traitor.”

Jon couldn’t deny the truth, but something held him back.

“I want at least to speak to her,” Jon replied. “I shan’t tell her about our plans, but I want hear it from Sansa’s lips. I owe her so much.”

“We owe her nothing,” Arya replied and averted her gaze. “I hate her…she is no sister of mine.”

Jon said nothing to that, for he felt that Arya had a right to be upset, but he wanted to try anyway or he wouldn’t be able to look Robb in the eyes.

“Perhaps,” he said and touched Arya’s cheek, forcing her to look at him. “But I must try at least. Will you help me?”

Arya looked up, her face contorted by a frown. “I shall do what I can, brother.”

“That is good to hear,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “But I know it will be hard for you. Will you try anyway?”

“Aye,” Arya promised. “What do you want me to do first?”

Jon smiled and wrinkled his nose at her smell. “First, you must ask for a bath, but very politely. No more fighting. I do not want to bring you back to Robb covered with hundreds of bruises.”

Strangely, Arya chuckled at that and climbed into his lap. She placed her head unto his shoulder.

“I enjoyed getting them…Joffrey thought he could make me cry, but he was wrong about that. It made him only grow angrier.”

Jon pressed her close to his chest, his guts alight with rage. He wished he could give Joff a beating he would never forget.

_Well, if the rumours are true we are not that much different from each other. One a bastard of incest and the other a common one. _

“Keep that in your heart, but no more fighting. Understood?”

“Understood,” Arya whispered in return and placed her hand on her chest. “I promise.”

Then, he left Arya and took his time to explore the Red Keep.

In truth, it was not a very large castle compared to Winterfell, but it was difficult to move freely without having the eyes of every servant following after him. That he was the son of a traitor only helped to add to the rumors that were being spread about him.

_A dirty turn cloak_, he heard some whisper, but Jon tried his best not to show his displeasure over the matter. Ever since he was a little boy, he had endured the piercing looks of others, especially Theon Greyjoy, but this felt different. In Winterfell nobody would have harmed him due to the premise of being Lord Eddard Stark’s son, but here everything was different. Here he was neither friend or enemy to these people and everyone mistrusted him.

Especially, the members of the Kingsguard, among them Ser Meryn Trant who had developed a certain hatred for him during his short presence in King’s Landing, but Jon had long decided the best way of conduct was to ignore the man. Tyrion had told him the same, but that was easier said than done for the man was everywhere.

Which was why Jon was glad to find only Bronn waiting for him when he reached the Tower of the Hand. He was a scoundrel and a sellsword, but he was more trustworthy than anyone of Joff’s lickspittles.

“Have you tamed your wild beast of a sister?” the sellsword asked with a grin. “I heard Trant is pissing himself whenever he has to bring her food.”

Jon couldn’t help but to laugh. “Arya can be savage, but she is not as bad as you think. Still, I would enjoy seeing Trant piss himself.”

Bronn laughed and opened the door for him. “I would pay for that.”

Jon heard his laughter all the way into the room, where he found Lord Tyrion in company of his sister, which was a rare occurrence. In fact, this was the first time since he had left Winterfell that he saw the Queen Mother.

Not that she had changed much. Her beauty could not be denied, but even her golden hair and jade eyes could make one forget about the fact that she was the same woman who had birthed Joffrey. Not only that, but according to Arya she had also tried to murder Nym.

Jon hardened himself, as he shifted his attention to the Queen Mother and Tyrion. The Lord of the Hand was lounging in a cushioned chair, a cup of wine in one hand and a parchment in the other.

The Queen Mother gave him a strange look. Was it disgust or interest, Jon couldn’t say. He only knew that he didn’t like how her cat-like eyes were eying him from head to toe.

“So, this is Ned Stark’s bastard?”

Jon minded his manners, though it involved a lot of teeth-clenching.

“Your Grace,” he said and lowered his head. “I am indeed the son of Eddard Stark.”

Strangely, the Queen Mother chuckled and leaned forward in her seat, her hands straightening out her crimson gown.

“You don’t look much like him,” she said and eyed him once more, as she rose back to her feet. “Your mother must have been prettier than your father, but you certainly have his somber character. Bad for you.”

Jon didn’t know what to make of her words, the sound of the Queen Mother’s clucking feet ringing in his ears.

Tyrion was laughing at him when he heard the cracking of the door.

“Do not fret, Jon,” Tyrion said and waved his hand at the empty seat. He was also quick to pour him a cup of wine. “My sister is all bite. Still, keep away from her. It is better for you.”

Jon took the cup and drank, but not all too much. He couldn’t allow his mind to be addled too much by this oversweet substance.

“So you told me before,” Jon replied and placed the cup back on the table. Then, he searched for Tyrion’s face across the table. He was seated on two cushions, which made him appear slightly taller or perhaps it was only the shining pin that held his crimson cloak together that made him appear more powerful. “But it is not your sister I fear, your King is much more concerning, though I doubt that is the reason you called me here.”

“Indeed,” Lord Tyrion confirmed. “I have called you here for one particular reason: I have found a task for you.”

Jon was pleased by that. It was better than to do nothing.

“What will be my task?” Jon asked without hesitation.

Tyrion flashed him a crooked smile.

“Your task will be to watch Princess Rhaenys.”

Jon was taken back by that command. He had hoped for something closer to Arya.

“Why me? Isn’t the Kingsguard responsible for that?”

“It is,” Tyrion confirmed and waved with his hand. “But I trust you more than Trant or Joff’s lickspittles. No harm can come to the Princess. This is the only task I have for you.”

Jon knew what he really wanted to say. _I do not trust you with anything else._

Yet, he kept these thoughts to himself and accepted his task with a smile.

“I shall do as you ask.”

A few hours later, after Jon had eaten something and had gotten a proper wash, he went to seek out Princess Rhaenys to inform her about Tyrion’s decision. He doubted it would please her, but he had no other choice, but to play along.

It was Ser Arys Oakheart who was standing guard before Princess Rhaenys’ door. The man was one of the kinder members of the Kingsguard, but he seemed confused by Jon’s presence.

“What brings you here, boy?”

“Ser Jon,” Jon corrected him and received another grimace in return.

“Ser Jon,” the other man acknowledged grudgingly and shrugged his shoulders. “What brings you here?”

“The Lord Hand sends me,” he explained and showed him the parchment Tyrion had given him before his departure. “He says I am to guard the Princess from now on.”

Arys gave him a look of disbelief and was quick to pick the garment from his hands.

“You are quite right,” he said and eyed Jon once more. “Has the Lord Hand lost his mind?”

Jon couldn’t help but to retort in the most brazen manner.

“You would have to ask him that yourself, good Ser.”

The man’s clenching teeth told Jon that he had won a short victory.

“May I pass?”

Ser Arys frowned and touched the handle of the door. “As you must. I shall not fight with the Lord Hand.”

Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement and entered into the anteroom. It was a long corridor and the walls were covered with heavy tapestries.

He was so transfixed by them that he nearly stumbled over the stairs that were placed right at the entrance to the next room, a large chamber with high windows. It were fitting rooms for a Princess, but despite the generous bed and fine furnishing, he found no items of belonging, which was no surprise, for the Princess had been residing here only for a handful of days.

“The Princess is not decent,” a servant girl told him when he was about to cross into the solar. “You must wait.”

Jon didn’t mind waiting. It was something he had been doing his entire life, but the staring of the girl was bothering him.

Jon felt like some weird creature in a fair.

“Do I have something in my face?”

The girl’s stupid expression pleased him. It seems that she hadn’t expected such a comment.

“No, you do not,” she said and played with the skirt of her dress. “Tell, me are you the traitor’s son?”

Jon felt hot anger rising up inside him, but remained polite.

“I am Lord Eddard Stark’s son,” he replied. “What of it?”

“Nothing,” the girl said and eyed him once more. “Is it true you are a knight?”

“I am indeed a knight,” he confirmed and was even more pleased when heard the sound of the creaking door.

Another servant girl was standing there.

She seemed surprised, her dark eyes darting to Jon.

“Who is that?”

“Ser Jon,” announced the golden-haired handmaid. “He wishes to speak with the Princess on the Lord Hand’s behalf.”

“Oh,” the girl said and continued to hold the door open. “The Princess has left her bath. She may receive visitors again, but I must announce you.”

“Please do so, my Lady,” Jon replied politely and a heartbeat later the girl returned to allow him entrance.

The other room was smaller and round. There was only one window which made it necessary to light candles, but the carpet on the floor was usually beautiful and even lovelier was the singing voice of the girl seated in the large chair next to the heart. She was golden-haired and green-eyed like her mother, but she had nothing of her falseness.

It was Princess Myrcella who was playing on her harp, but she stopped immediately when she noticed his presence, turning her head to look at him.

Princess Rhaenys was also there, standing near the window. She was garbed in a simple red dress and her dark hair was free from its braids, snaking its way all the way down to her waist. It was still wet and so was her body, which made her dress cling to her form and made Jon’s breeches feel tighter than anticipated.

Since he had done it with Jeyne at the Inn at the Crossroads he was feeling these urges more than ever.

He should feel ashamed of it, he knew, but it seemed the body was stronger than the mind.

Yet to his luck, all these carnal urges were soon forgotten when the Princess turned around and flashed him a look of utter displeasure.

“What do you want?” she asked, her voice laced with suspicion, as her dark eyes met his. Yet, they weren’t completely dark. There was a hint of purple in them.

“I am here to inform you that the Lord Hand has appointed me to guard you,” Jon informed her politely and offered her the parchment Tyrion had given him.

She was utterly silent, as she read, her body tense and Princess Myrcella’s gaze resting on him.

“Is this some sort of jest?”

Jon was taken back by her hostility, but he tried not to show it.

She was such far cry from the shy girl he had met in Winterfell.

“No, it is not,” Jon said and lowered his head when he faced Princess Myrcella. “And I shall explain it if you wish, but it would mean to ask Princess Myrcella to leave us.”

The young girl was quick to react and gathered her skirt.

“As you wish,” she announced cheerfully and bounced out of the room, her laughter ringing in Jon’s ears. “I am already gone!”

Jon didn’t know what to make of the girl, but he forgot about all that when he looked back at Princess Rhaenys.

She was still glaring at him. Her full lips were trembling, as was her upper body, which was soaked and her nipples were visible through the thin gown.

Jon sucked in a deep breath and met her gaze. It was better than to look down.

“Explain then.”

“Lord Tyrion thinks it would be better for me to attend to you, because he doesn’t trust Joffrey’s men.”

Realization washed over the Princess’ face, but there was no smile nor any hint of softness.

She only gave a nod of acknowledgement and handed him the parchment back.

“I understand, but I have no need of a little boy to guard me.”

Jon understood her reasoning, but he also understood that Tyrion would be displeased if he ignored his wishes.

“I am not beholden to you,” Jon replied. “I am here on the command of the Hand of the King.”

“Are you now?” asked the Princess Rhaenys. “Good to see that you are so obedient to your new master.”

It was then that Jon understood why she was so hostile. She thinks me a turn cloak.

Yet, he couldn’t remove this taint from himself until he had left this rotten city with Arya and Sansa alive.

“I don’t see much of a difference between us,” Jon replied politely. “You are also doing as they say, are you not?”

Her dark eyes widened and she clenched her teeth. “We are nothing alike!”

“No,” he said in disappointment and slipped his hand in the vest of his cloak to retrieve what he had kept there all these weeks. “We are not. It is as I told you in the North. I am a bastard and now I am a turncloak, but you are wrong about one thing, Princess. I am mainly here to comfort my sisters, Arya most of all and because I have no other place to go. I thank you for giving me this, but I do think I should keep it.”

Then, he grabbed her hand and left her gift there.

She opened her hand in silence, her eyes growing wide in shock.

“You kept it?” she asked in disbelief and chuckled bitterly. She was shaking her head. “I gave you this to start a better life, not to become a Lannister man.”

Jon shrugged his shoulders. “Fate has a strange sense of humor.”

Strangely, the Princess laughed at that and stepped closer. She quickly took his hand and placed the ruby back in his.

Jon was surprised and distracted by the smell of her perfume. It smelled of flowers.

It was an alluring smell, as was the sight below him.

It took him quite a lot of concentration not to lower his gazed.

“Keep the ruby,” Princess Rhaenys told him at last and stepped backwards. “And tell the Lord Hand that I shall accept his decision. You may come on the morrow at dawn. If you are late I shall not accept you.”

Jon didn’t know if he should be amused or insulted by the Princess’ reply, but he remained polite as ever and lowered his head in acceptance.

“I shall do as you please, your Grace.”

When Jon returned to his quarters he hoped to find some peace before he would have to endure Princess Rhaenys’ hot temper on the morrow, but the Hound destroyed all his plans with his visitors.

Said visitors were two young women, whores by their revealing gowns and their painted lips. One was chubby with large tits and red of hair and the other was slender and brown-haired. She could barely be older than Sansa, but she didn’t seem afraid, for she flashed him an amused smile.

“Is he of the Kingsguard?” the girl asked in a chirping voice while the fat one continued bouncing on Sandor Clegane’s lap. It was another thing Jon had not wanted to see, but it was unavoidable. Most men here brought whores to their beds on a daily basis.

The Hound scoffed and patted the fat whore’s ass, as he turned to the slender girl. “He is a lowly knight, but prettier than me. Ask him if he wants to fuck you. He looks like he has need of it!”

Jon felt embarrassment, as the girl leaned forward and started touching his waist, her small fingers playing with the bindings of his breeches.

Jon felt this treacherous feeling of lust rising up inside him, but this time his mind proved stronger than his desires.

He brushed the girl’s hand away, but he graced her with a polite smile.

“I have no coin for this.”

The girl chuckled and smiled sweetly. “You are sweet enough that I would do it for free.”

Jon felt his cheeks burn and the Hound howled with laughter.

“You should make use of that chance!”

But Jon wanted to hear none of it and left to mind is own business. He undertook a walk through the Red Keep and tried his best to ignore the passing glances of the servants.

He wished he could just to find Arya and spend time with her. That would make him forget all these lowly thoughts. True, he was a knight now, but his name was still Snow until he had lands of his own or a name. His father was dead, but perhaps Robb would give him a name. Yet, for that he needed to get alive out of this city, a feat he had yet to achieve.

Truly, getting out of the Red Keep would be difficult enough, but the hardest thing would be to cross the distance to Riverrun.

And boarding a ship would even be more difficult. Jon could hardly go to the harbor and book a ship for himself and two girls. Not even Joff was that stupid.

And there was another matter: the war between the Baratheon brothers and Robb. Only time would tell…

“There you are boy,” the Hounds voice greeted him again when he entered. He was alone again, his ugly scar making him appear like some monster from Old Nan’s tales. “I forgot to give you something…from the little bird.”

Jon was confused. “Who?”

“Your bloody sister, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” he explained and handed Jon a crumpled piece of parchment. “She told me to give you this in secret.”

Jon was taken back by this revelation, but didn’t refuse the piece of paper. When he had read it thrice, he knew that the man in front of him was not lying.

The writing was without doubt Sansa’s penmanship.

And she wanted to meet him.

It was a chance he had been hoping for.

...


	24. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

As every day, Eddard Stark’s bastard came at dawn, as he had promised. He was meant to guard her, as if she was an unruly child, but he was nothing more than a boy himself. True, he was a knight and that at the age of fifteen, but that didn’t mean anything to Rhaenys. She had met too many knights to know that most of them were not more honorable than other men. On the contrary, some were the worst kind of men.

She knew these thoughts were wrong, but how could she not nurse such thoughts when she would most likely be dead in the moons to come. Stannis Baratheon and Renly Baratheon were both preparing for war while Tywin Lannister was waging war against the King in the North. What would become of them if his enemies reach this city? Rhaenys had known Renly long enough to know that he was no cruel man nor did she think Stannis was a second Tywin, but one man could not control a horde of men falling over a city. Rhaenys was not naïve, she knew what a sack would mean. Rape would be the kindest fate followed only by death.

Well, that was only if they would even live to see the sack of the city. She had heard the Queen Mother whisper about taking _certain_ measures to make sure they would not fall into the hands of the enemy.

And it were exactly these kind of thoughts that ruined Rhaenys’ mood, despite the brilliant blue sky outside and the gentle breeze coming through the open windows. It was a good day to take a walk , but she felt only dread and not even the sun could wake her spirits.

It was bad luck. First, she had barely escaped a cruel death in the Black Cells and now she would perish by the hands of the Baratheons. Truly, what had she done to deserve such a punishment?

Surely, the gods must have a reason for it, but perhaps there are no gods. Perhaps there was only men, rotting creatures that were soiling this world with their greed and corruption.

No, if there were real gods they would have long killed all men for their sins.

“Princess,” the voice of Ser Jon roused her out of her gloomy thoughts. She had been sitting in front of the window, her head plastered against the painted glass, as she had been watching the courtyard below where the men were going about strengthening the Red Keep against a possible siege. ”Do you plan to stay inside here all day?”

Rhaenys was surprised to hear him speak like this. It only showed how much of a fish out of the water he really was. Not even a member of the Kingsguard would have ever questioned her commands. Cersei would have had him punished for this, but then he was perhaps only brazen in her company because he was not at all afraid of her. And why should he? Rhaenys was neither tall nor strong. She had no dragon either to instill fear into her enemies. She was only a hostage.

So, it was only natural that even Eddard Stark’s bastard feared her.

That angered her even more, though she had long realized that the boy was not bad by any means. She had not been wrong with her first impression of him in Winterfell. He had certainly spoken the truth when he had said that he was here for his sisters. She had asked her servant girls to spy on him and they had told her everything about his coming and goings.

The boy spent every free moment with his little sister and when he was not with her he was training.

The servant girls had also told her he was often running about in the Red Keep, as if he was searching for.

And Rhaenys had the feeling she knew exactly what he was searching for.

Perhaps a way to escape?

The thought filled her with _false_ hope, for how could anyone hope to escape from this city? The Gold Cloaks were patrolling the streets day and night and even if they made it out of the city they would find them within a day.

Truly, it was a hopeless endeavor.

“Princess Rhaenys,” Ser Jon said again which made Rhaenys suck in a deep breath.

“I have heard you,” she assured him and turned around. He was standing at the door, the hem of his tunic pulled up around the arms and his cloak loose around his shoulders. His dark hair was wet and sweat was trickling down his cheeks. He had yet to take to the heat, but that was no surprise. The North was very different from the South. “Where do you want to go anyway? You are already sweating like a pig.”

A hint of a smile played on his lips pale. It also lightened up his long and somber face.

“True,” Jon said. “That is why I hope you might agree to go to the godswood. It is always cooler around trees.”

It was true, but Rhaenys had a certain dislike for crawling animals.

Showing weakness was something she could allow herself and she was also quite embarrassed about her fear.

Not even Princess Myrcella was afraid of crawling things.

“I am tired,” Rhaenys excused herself. “The heat makes me tired.”

“Again,” Ser Jon countered as brazenly. “The trees might help with that? It might also help to brush away your gloomy thoughts.”

He even dared to chuckle.

She was also surprised he had noticed her depressed state.

“Why do you care?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders.

“Why not?”

Rhaenys nodded her head, as she pulled herself to her feet.

“Because no one cares about me beyond being alive.”

Jon said nothing for a long time and stepped closer, offering his arm to her. “Well, I do.”

Rhaenys laughed bitterly. “Is that so? I do not believe you.”

Strangely, he started to laugh as well.

“Well, then I shall speak the truth,” he said and lowered his head in a rather silly manner. “I do not care at all about you. I just want to get outside to cool down. This heat is killing me.”

Rhaenys liked the sound of these honest words much more. ”If that is the case we may go. I do not wish to see you suffer.”

A pleasant breeze touched Rhaenys’ face, as they entered the godswood. It was nothing like the one in Winterfell, though. There was a heart tree, but it was only an old oak surrounded by a handful of more trees. There were birch trees and a handful of sentinels and even an old and crooked nut tree that looked, as if it wouldn’t survive the next storm or perhaps not even the sack of this city. Still, it was a pleasant change from the stifling heat and her sworn sword seemed even more pleased.

He was breathing deeply, as she walked beside her, his dark eyes wandering over each tree, as if he was a person he wanted to meet and speak to. Thoroughly, Jon Snow was a strange boy, but then who could he not be strange? He had a massive white direwolf and he had sullied his own reputation to be with his sisters?

Who would have thought something like that possible of a bastard? Most men or women infatuated with the Faith would probably not believe it.

Well, Rhaenys believed it and found herself suddenly less angry. Perhaps it was also the sunshine, but the fresh air certainly helped to clear her mind of burdensome thoughts.

“Have you seen the godswood in Winterfell?” Jon asked her suddenly and she turned around to look at him. He was looking at the heart tree, as he continued to speak. “This one is nothing more than a meagre imitation.”

“True,” Rhaenys said and was not surprised to find him disappointed by this godswood. “But to answer your question. Yes, I have seen the godswood in Winterfell. It is beautiful and this one here can certainly compare to a real weirwood, but then there are few places in Westeros that have these kind of trees. The only place I know is Harrenhall…the Isle of Faces.”

Recognition showed on Jon Snow’s face, as she stepped an inch closer and placed his hand on the bark of the tree. A sharp gust of wind washed over them in that moment, his cloak flapping over his shoulders and snapping into his face like a whip.

Rhaenys was quick to grab it and push it backwards. Jon Snow laughed, his lips twisting upwards and a wash of warmth surging through her body.

She felt her cheeks burn when she noticed his piercing gaze. She was by no means afraid of men, but the realization made her make a step backwards.

“I have heard of this place….this Island of Faces. Have you been there?”

“I have,” she said and was filled with fresh sadness. “My father took me there when I was very young.”

“Your father?” he asked in obvious surprise, his dark eyebrows rising to the top of his head. No further sound left his mouth, as if he had suddenly lost his speech.

His reaction made her feel tense. This was another thing she hated. That she had to pretend to hate her father.

It pained her more than she could say, because contrary to the majority of Westeros she didn’t buy into Robert Baratheon’s vile lies. Her father might have shamed her mother, but he would have never raped an innocent maid.

So much was certain to Rhaenys.

“I am apologize…,” he said and was about to stretch out his hand towards her, but in that moment she noticed the presence of two girls.

One girl was tall like a willow tree, her pink dress easily discernible in the bright sunlight and her red hair making Rhaenys’ heart stop.

“Jon!” a gay and joyful rang in her ears a heartbeat later and suddenly Arya Stark was hanging around Jon’s neck, nuzzling his cheek. “I am glad you came!”

Jon Snow chuckled and smiled even brighter before placing the little girl back on the ground. She looked so changed that Rhaenys had barely recognized her in her blue dress and with her proper braids. She even wore white stockings and slippers.

“You shouldn’t be so loud,” warned Sansa Stark, no the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She had spoken in a sad and subdued voice, her face pale like ash. There was nothing left of the innocent girl Rhaenys had known. It seemed she had seen Joff’s nastier side. “And we don’t have much time. Ser Meryn will expect us to return soon after we had said our prayers to the gods.”

Arya Stark didn’t even look at her sister. Her gaze was fully fixed on Jon Snow, who seemed oddly relieved to see Sansa Stark.

“You look well,” Jon said and jerked his head at Rhaenys. “I hope you do not mind her presence, but it was the only way.”

Then, he looked back at Rhaenys. “Princess Rhaenys holds no love for Joffrey. She won’t tell on us.”

Sansa Stark nodded her head and bit her lips. Not a word of apology left her lips and she quickly directed her attention back to her brother. “I believe you, but as I said before: We have no time to waste. Still, I am thankful you came.”

“Are you?” Jon asked. “You don’t sound like it. Tell me, is it true? Did you betray, father?”

Sansa Stark’s face looked, as if hall blood had left his face.

“I was stupid…I thought father was conspiring against the King…against his _rightful_ King,” Sansa Stark stuttered and lowered her blue gaze to poppies and daisies growing beneath her feet. “I am know that I was wrong.”

Jon Snow’s face remained unreadable as ever. If he was angry or not, Rhaenys couldn’t tell, but Arya Stark was openly glaring at her sister, her fisted hand opening and closing.

“You killed him! You killed…,” the girl snapped, but Jon pulled her backwards to keep her still.

“There is no time for quarreling,” Jon Snow insisted and looked at Rhaenys. “Would you perhaps leave us for a moment?”

Rhaenys nodded her head and made her away along the muddy path to sit beneath the crooked nut tree.

There on a patch of green grass, she sat down and watched Jon Snow and his sisters from the distance. They were speaking in low voices, but Rhaenys could tell by their tense bearing that this was not just a happy family reunion.

Rhaenys could only imagine what they were talking about, but she knew it was a fruitless endeavor. They would never get out of this place.

Their fate was sealed.

Not long after, Jon Snow returned after he had taken his leave from his sisters.

Jon Snow spoke nothing during their walk back to her chambers.

Only when Rhaenys had closed the door behind her and she had sat down, did Jon Snow speak again.

He looked very distraught.

It made him wonder what Sansa Stark had told him.

“So, you wish to flee the city?” she asked.

Jon Snow gave her an amused laugh.

“Aye, that is my plan, but I do not think it will be that easy.”

“Certainly not,” Rhaenys replied. “I personally think it is impossible.”

“Perhaps,” Jon Snow said and brushed his hair out of his face. “And I do not wish to speak about it now, if you do not mind. That said…I think I should apologize for my rude behavior. I didn’t want to insult you…it must be hard to have a father like yours.”

Rhaenys was taken back by his words.

“My father,” she repeated and lifted her gaze. “What do you know about my father anyway?”

Jon Snow swallowed hard and shrugged his shoulders.

“Only what everyone says. In the North he is hated.”

“Of course,” Rhaenys replied and for the blink of a moment she wondered if she should not keep her mouth shut, but the urge to speak her mind was stronger. “Well, tell me Jon Snow, do you always believe what people tell you?”

“No,” he said in obvious surprise. “But even my father believes it to be true.”

Fresh anger rose up inside Rhaenys. “Your father was no bad man, Jon Snow, but for all his honor and goodness he never lifted a single finger to see justice done when it was necessary. How can you be so sure that he didn’t just shut his mouth to please King Robert?”

“See justice done?” Jon Snow asked.

“My mother,” Rhaenys explained. “She was murdered by Tywin Lannister’s henchmen and neither your father nor the oh so honorable Lord Jon Arryn lifted a finger to see her revenged. What would it have cost King Robert to take the Mountain’s head, a mere henchmen of Tywin? Nothing. That is why I do not think your father ever told the whole _truth_ of what transpired during the Rebellion.”

“The truth?” Jon Snow asked, his voice laced with sudden anger. “What other _truth _could there be than my Aunt being raped by your father?”

“My father named her Queen of Love and Beauty,” Rhaenys insisted. “If he just wanted to rape her he didn’t have to do such a thing. No, I think the _truth_ is that your father kept the _real_ truth to himself, namely that your Aunt preferred my father over his chosen King and that King Robert’s tale about the abduction is nothing more than a vile lie to justify the murder of my father.”

Jon Snow looked back at her, as if she had poured a bucket of cold water over his head.

Then, he turned around and pace up the length of the chamber before returning back to her, his dark eyes shining with confusion and anger.

“Impossible. My father would not lie.”

“Well, he wasn’t lying was he?” Rhaenys pointed out and crossed her arms in front of her. “All he did was keep his mouth shut, probably to save your Aunt’s honor. An understandable measure.”

Jon Snow nodded his head in understanding and spoke again.

“That sounds much more like my father, but still…What makes you think my Aunt would dishonor her family in such a manner?”

Rhaenys chuckled. “Have you seen King Robert or even spoken to him?”

Jon Snow’s eyes widened.

“I admit, he was not the kingliest person and he certainly didn’t show his Queen much interest, but by my father’s tales he was a much different man in the past.”

“Less fat maybe, but as far as I know, the King Robert always held a great appetite for whores and wine in equal measure. Maybe Lyanna Stark didn’t want to fare as Cersei Lannister has and birth Robert’s children while he goes off to fuck half the whores of Storm’s End.”

“And your father was better?” Jon Snow asked. “If your tale is true then it means he left his wife for another woman.”

“My father didn’t _leave_,” Rhaenys replied. “Before he died he came to me and my mother, promising his return. Whatever kind of relationship my father and mother had, I remember that my mother was very collected. She trusted that my father would win the war. Besides, many a marriage in Westeros is not based on love. Perhaps that was so with my mother and my father wished to take a mistress? He wouldn’t be the first King to do such a thing and by all means my father was known to be a handsome man. Is it so hard to believe that Lyanna Stark would _choose_ him over King Robert?”

Jon Snow nodded his head. “It is not impossible, but no one would believe these ponderings of yours, Princess.”

She had never expected that.

“What about you?”

He looked back at her and smiled. “I believe that no child wishes to hear ill words about their father and I shan’t judge you for it. I personally do not know your father nor have I thought much of him. Be it as it may, even if he just took my Aunt to run away with her, he still caused the war and the death of my Uncle and Grandfather.”

Rhaenys had heard _this_ justification a thousand times. She was sick of it and it showed in her heated reply.

“So, you think my mother deserved getting raped and murdered for something the Mad King did?”

“Gods, no!” Jon Snow replied and lifted his hands in defense. “You are twisting my words. To be honest, I couldn’t care less who sits the Iron Throne. I do not care for Stannis or Renly either. My father was sworn to House Baratheon and I am just a landless bastard knight. I have no loyalty other than to my family, the Starks.”

Rhaenys was surprised to hear that.

“Your father was _loyal_ to King Robert.”

“Who is dead and rotting in his grave,” Jon Snow pointed out. “And I do not know Renly and Stannis enough to make myself want to serve them or hail them my King.”

It was a reasonable answer, but Rhaenys longed to dig deeper. ”What about my brother?”

A moment of silence passed before he spoke. “I do not know him either, but if he gets rid of the Lannisters I shan’t stand in his way to kingship, which is why it is all the more important for _you_ to get away from here.”

Rhaenys blinked once, twice and a third time.

“What did you just say?”

Jon Snow smiled softly and leaned closer to take her hand in his.

“That I think it would be better for _you _to leave this city.”

…


	25. Aegon

**Aegon**

Aegon shifted in his makeshift throne, as Ser Barristan Selmy was brought before him once more. He was kneeling in front of him now, his gaze downcast. Aegon knew she should feel hatred towards this man, who was according to Jon Connington’s view a traitor of the vilest sort, but Aegon saw only an old man, an old man whose reputation could serve them well if they made use of it.

Yet, by Jon Connington’s expression Aegon could tell that he was not yet quite open to the idea.

“Please look at me, Ser Barristan,” Aegon said at last. “It is hard to speak to a man who is staring at his boots.”

The old man lifted his sky-blue eyes and smiled sadly. “Indeed, your Grace.”

“Good,” Aegon said and exhaled deeply. “Now let me hear what you have to say. Tell me again, why did you come here only after so many years?”

“The story is shameful,” he said and sighed deeply. “I was dismissed from my service as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard by King Joffrey, because he thought me too old and incapable to protect him. That his _supposed_ father King Robert found a rather unfortunate death was another reason.”

“He was killed by a boar, wasn’t he?” Aegon asked and couldn’t help but to feel a certain amount of pleasure at hat thought. The man had killed his father and had stolen his crown. He deserved no less for what he had done, yet Aegon couldn’t bring himself to hate the sad old man in front of him as well. Regret was written all over his face.

“He was, your Grace.”

“And you regret his death?” Jon Connington asked coldly.

Ser Barristan looked over to Jon Connington. “I do, but only because it was my _duty_ to protect him.”

“It was your _duty_ to protect my father as well,” Aegon added without contempt. “And you failed in that. Tell me, Ser Barristan, isn’t it the _duty_ of a member of the Kingsguard to die for his King?”

“I know so much,” Ser Barristan replied. “And I failed in that. I see now that it was wrong to shun my _duty_. At times I do wish I died with your father.”

“Then, why did you bend the knee to the usurper?” Jon Connington demanded to know.

Ser Barristan said nothing for a long time, his gaze still lingering on his boots. He looked, as if he was quarreling with himself, not knowing what to say or to do.

At last, he exhaled deeply and lifted his gaze to look at Aegon.

“I am honest. After watching your grandfather rule the realm and your father’s death I thought King Robert was a better choice. And how could I not? He was a charismatic man and a good warrior at that. He also had the support of three kingdoms behind him. I was also tired of fighting and wounded. I longed for peace. That is the whole _truth_ of my shame.”

The words had hurt, but Aegon knew enough about King Aerys to know that Ser Barristan was not lying, yet that didn’t make it any better.

“What about my father? Did you not think of his memory while you were serving the man who murdered him?”

“I did,” Ser Barristan admitted. “I suppose I deluded myself into thinking that I had made a reasonable choice.”

“So, you do not think Robert Baratheon was the _right_ choice after all?” Jon Connington asked full of contempt.

He would have probably said much more, but Aegon had lifted his hand to silence him.

“What Jon Connington wants to say is: What do you think now of Robert Baratheon after he has ruled for nearly sixteen years?”

“He was _not_ worthy of the crown,” Ser Barristan admitted. “Not only did he neglect his _duties_, he also squandered the realm’s wealth and spent more time with his whores than on his throne. Not only that, he also allowed the Lannisters to sully everything your ancestors had built. He was only better than Aerys in the sense that he didn’t share is streak of cruelty.”

Aegon was pleased by his words, but there was one failing he had forgotten.

“You forgot to mention another one of his and your failures,” Aegon corrected Ser Barristan and leaned forward to search Ser Barristan’s face. “You forgot about my mother and my sister.”

Ser Barristan nodded his head. “You are quite right. I should have tried to revenge your mother and help your sister. Another one of my many failings, your Grace. However, as I said before…I am here to repent if you allow me. Take my head if it pleases you, I shan’t judge you for it.”

“Just taking your head would be a far too kind punishment for you,” Jon Connington complained, but Aegon lifted his hand once more to silence him.

“I shan’t take your head,” Aegon declared and leaned back in his chair. “For I have need of you Ser Barristan. Do not think my trust is easily won, but I would be a fool to send away Ser Barristan the Bold. Your presence amongst my men will help me to convince my father’s loyal friends to join us when we arrive in Westeros. However, that also means you will have to earn my trust. Is that understood?”

Ser Barristan looked at Aegon with wide eyes. He was full of disbelief.

“Are you sure, your Grace?”

“I am sure,” Aegon said and was glad when Jon Connington kept his thoughts to himself while Ser Barristan placed his hand on his chest and gave his vow.

Only much later, after they were alone, his Hand’s displeasure was unleashed upon Aegon.

“How could you allow _this_ man to go free?” his Hand demanded. “He is a_ traitor_!”

“He is Ser Barristan the Bold,” Aegon replied and tried to raise his voice. He didn’t want to sound like some boy, but a King. “And I gave my reasons. That should be enough for you. I am not saying that you have to like him, but you will accept my decision in this matter. Is that understood, my Lord Hand?”

“It is,” Jon Connington replied and came to stand in front of Aegon, his arms crossed in front of him. “But as your rightly said: that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“Good to hear,” Aegon replied and leaned forward to hold his hands over the fire. The nights of Volantis were as chilly as he recalled, but that was not the reason he sought the warms of the flames. They helped to calm him down, for his mind was elsewhere, namely with Daenerys, who had disappeared into thin air. “But Ser Barristan shouldn’t be our main concern. We need to find Daenerys.”

“True,” Jon Connington agreed. “But that is easier said than done. Toyne’s men have been searching the city for days, but no sign of her. I hope the search will prove fruitful on the morrow.”

“I hope so as well,” Aegon said and exhaled deeply before pulling his cloak around his shoulders. His mind was still heavy from the wine he had consumed and he longed for sleep. “I do not wish to see her harmed.”

“So you have warmed up to her?” Jon Connington asked.

“It is not only that,” Aegon replied and looked back at Jon Connington. “She is also the only family I have left. I know about my sister, but once I am arriving in Westeros her life will be forfeit. I do not think I can save her.”

“It is a cruel thing to say, but necessary,” Jon Connington agreed. “You have a _duty _to retake your father’s legacy.”

Aegon shrugged his shoulders. “Please leave me now, my Lord Hand. I am rather tired.”

“Of course, your Grace,” Lord Connington replied and lowered his head in reverence before finally leaving him to his own devices.

Aegon went to bed soon after and fell asleep easily. The wine helped, but his dreams were strange.

He was suddenly no longer in Volantis, but in a city of colorful walls and dust. Arms were reaching for him, trying to pull him along. They belonged to old men with blue lips and papery voices.

They called out to him, begging him to come to them, to become one of them.

Yet, Aegon didn’t want to join them and pulled himself free from their tight grip, rushing away, desperately trying to find a way to escape.

When he finally managed to escape their begging voices he found himself walking along an empty street.

There he found somoene familiar meeting him along the way. It was this woman called Qaithe. She was garbed in a crimson robe, her black masks glimmering like obsidian in the blinding sunlight.

“It happened as I foretold you, Prince Aegon. I urged you to beware of the men with the blue lips. They have taken your Queen and the three dragon eggs. You must find them or all will be lost.”

Aegon shook his head in disbelief, but his heart sill longed for answers.

“Where is she?”

“In this very city,” Qaithe declared and spread her hands wide, her crimson robes fluttering around her like flames. “Qarth. That is where you will find her.”

“But why?” Aegon asked. “And _who _would take her to this distant place?”

“Men who crave for power,” Qaithe replied. “They hope these dragon eggs and your wife’s blood is going to grant them this power.”

“And who are _these_ men?”

“Warlocks,” Qaithe replied. “Men who should be long dead. They want the dragons, for dragons are magic made flesh.”

With these last words, she disappeared, as quickly as the morning mist and Aegon was roused from his slumber by a painful feeling on his head.

When he had pulled himself up into a seeing position, he realized that he had fallen from his bed.

His head hurt a little, but he had worse.

The dream had felt so real, but perhaps it had been no dream at all?

Aegon made a step forward and stumbled towards he table, where he poured himself a cup of wine.

He drank greedily and watched the sun rise over the walls of Volantis.

Then, he dressed himself quickly and called for Jon Connington, who came shortly after in company of Rolly, who looked as if he hadn’t seen a bed in weeks.

“I know it sounds utterly mad, but I do think I know where Daenerys has been taken to.”

Jon Connington gave him a confused look and Rolly remained silent.

“Where, your Grace?”

“Qarth.”

…


	26. Robb

**Robb**

Thick raindrops were drumming down on the battlements of castle _Ashmark_, the seat of House Marbrand. It reminded Robb of the sound of the war drums he had heard nearly every day since they had marched from Riverrun on to the Westerlands.

Yet, they had not taken usual path past the Golden Tooth, for Robb had found a clever way to avoid the mighty castle that was guarding the entrance to the Westerlands. Well, in truth it had been all due to Greywind or at least that is how Robb perceived it. They had been a day’s march away from the Golden Tooth when Robb had been roused by strange dreams. He had found himself running about in his loyal beast’s skin, trespassing a narrow path that had led him deep into the Westerlands. At first, Robb had believed it a mere dream, but when he had seen the high walls of the Golden Tooth he had commanded his men to search for this path. And as it had turned out there was indeed such a path, a goat track covered with slings and shrubbery and fallen trees. Truly, it had been a rather perilous climb, but in the end it had paid off, for the Lannisters hadn’t expected this ploy, especially not, because Robb had left a thousand men in command of Yohn Royce to besiege the Golden Tooth.

Yet, they had been afforded no time to savor their victory, for only a day later they had come about Lord Stafford Lannister’s camp full of fresh recruits and survivors of the battle of the Green Fork. It had been the Blackfish’s scouting that had kept them hidden from the enemy’s eyes and had granted them the moment of surprise. That Lord Stafford had failed to put up sentries had only made it easier for them. That night, Robb had sent out men to cut the lines that had been holding the horses and Greywind that had driven the poor animals to madness.

The Lannister men had been utterly surprised by their attack. Some had gathered their courage to fight, but many more had fled when Robb had sent out his cavalry to capture more hostages.

From thereon, they had moved on to Ashmark and had captured the castle withing a day.

It had been a successful campaign so far, but looking at the sky one might think the gods were not pleased with him, as was Lord Rickard Karstark who had finally been allowed to still his bloodthirst by slaying a Lannister, though it had only been Lord Stafford Lannister. Robb doubted it was enough for the old man, as deep in his heart was probably still longing to cut Jaime Lannister’s throat.

_Damn him_, Robb thought and continued to walk along the battlements, Greywind’s sorrowful howl ringing in his ears. _And the Lannisters._

He stopped at one of the watchtowers and climbed down the numerous stone steps that led into the large courtyard below, bustling with Robb’s men and servants of the castle. The smell of cookfires filled his nose and the clinking of weapons filled his ears, as he made his way through the crowd, trying to go unnoticed in his simple brown cloak. Yet, that proved harder than expected when Greywind came running towards him, his mouth seeking his hand for food or perhaps comfort.

“Come along, boy,” Robb said and led his wolf inside where his squire Olyvar Frey was already waiting for him.

The young man was anxious as ever.

“Your Grace,” he said and hopped from one foot to the other. “You are sopping wet. You ought to take a warm bath or you might catch a cold.”

Robb chuckled and continued stirring the flames in the hearth, his cloak already discarded on the armchair close by.

“I am from the North,” he told the young boy. “I have seen snows in summer. A little rain is not going to kill me.”

He smiled at Olyvar, as he settled himself in the armchair. “Now go and ask the servants to prepare some supper for myself and my lords. I need to speak with them at once.”

Olyvar made a quick nod and was gone a heartbeat later, giving Robb some time to calm himself before the Greatjon’s booming voice would bring him another headache. The bruise on his brow only added to the pain, though the wine certainly helped to ease his discomfort.

Sadly, the peace didn’t last long, for barely an hour later his lords arrived and not long after the servants. The food was a simple stew made of leftover meat, vegetables and herbs, but it helped to fill their empty stomach. Robb had made sure that there was enough food, but he had asked Olyvar to keep the ale away from his men for tonight. He had no need of drunken fools pillaging through the Westerlands.

“The wine is watered,” the Greatjon remarked immediately and frowned. “Do these Lannister litpickles not even have enough wine?”

“That is intentionally,” Robb informed the Greatjon. “For you will have to rise early and move on to your next task, my Lord.”

Robb had leaned over the map spread over the table, as he had said this.

Then, he smiled at the Greatjon, as held up a wooden figurine. “This is you, my lord. I expect you to ride towards Nunn’s Deep. I want you to capture Tywin Lannister’s goldmines.”

The Greatjon’s barking laughter filled the room soon after.

“A fine task, your Grace!” he declared brazenly and slammed his hand on the table, which earned him laughter and shaking heads.

Robb cleared his throat and the Greatjon fell silent, allowing him to continue.

“You my Lord Glover and Lord Karstark,” Robb told the two men seated before him. One was watching Robb intently and the other one was glowering at his cup of wine. “I expect you to raid along the coast. You may do as you please with the Lannisters lords. Show them that we are to be feared.”

“As you wish, my Lord,” Galbert Glover nodded his head in acceptance.

Rickard Karstark seemed pleased and even smiled.

“I shall be pleased. Every dead Lannister will make my grief lighter to bear.”

Robb said nothing to that and shifted his attention back to Lady Mormont and Ser Jon Redfort. “And you will carry everything of worth back to the Riverlands, my Lady.”

“It shall do my best,” Lady Mormont replied without hesitation.

His Lords left in good spirits, but Robb felt no joy. His heart was heavy with worries and he had hoped to receive some news about the Baratheon brothers by now.

So many questions were whirling through is mind. Was Stannis already marching towards King’s Landing or had Renly reached it before his elder brother? Had his mother been able to speak on his behalf to King Renly? Where his sisters and Jon still alive? Has Theon been able to convince his father? Has Tywin fallen for his trap? So many unanswered questions…

And these thoughts kept him away long beyond the hour of the wolf and left Robb roaming through the castle like a madman.

It was Olyvar Frey who came upon him in the darkness with an oil lamp in hand and called Robb back to the present.

On his pale lips played a trembling smile.

“There you are, your Grace.”

It had taken Robb a handful of moments before he had realized that the young man in front of him was no appearance, but real.

“Olyvar,” he said and forced a smile over his lips. “You surprised me.”

“Did I?” the young man asked fearfully. “I never meant…,” he was about to continue, but a wave of Robb’s hand was enough to silence him.

“No need to apologize,” Robb assured him and led him back to his chamber where the fire was already burning low. Robb was quick to stir the flames back to life, which in turn roused Greywind from his sleep. As always, Olyvar jumped backwards when the wolf nuzzled his arm.

“Here,” Robb told his squire and offered him a cup of wine. He himself drank nothing. “Drink up. You are as pale as a sheet. Why are you running about like a ghost?”

“I was searching for you,” Olyvar explained and took a sip. Then, he continued. “I thought something bad had happened, your Grace. This castle is ours now, but it is filled with enemies.”

“I know,” Robb explained. Olyvar was two years older than Robb, but fearful and shy. He was also the most pleasant of the Frey Lords and looked nothing like his kin. “I had hoped a walk would help me sleep, but I suppose that was not meant to be.”

Olyvar Frey shrugged his shoulders. “I couldn’t sleep either. I do not like war. I want to go home to the twins and see my sister again.”

Robb nodded his head in understanding. “Then, you are lucky. I am not even sure my sisters will make it out alive if Stannis and Renly were to decide to attack the city. My only hope is Jon, but what can he do? He is a boy not older than myself and surrounded by countless enemies.”

“So are we,” Olyvar concluded and smiled. “And I wonder where we will go now? You didn’t say anything about your plans when your Lords were here to break their fast with you, your Grace.”

Robb was surprised his shy squire even dared to ask him such a question to the face.

“Well, there is a good reason for that. I will lead the bulk of this army myself and I do not want anyone to know my full plans until the last possible moment. And as you rightly pointed out, this castle is full of enemies. One raven and my plans could be betrayed.”

Olyvar’s cheeks reddened. “I should have known better than to doubt you, your Grace.”

“You do not need to apologize,” Robb assured his squire once more. “For I have even left my Uncle Edmure in the dark about _all_ my plans.”

Olyvar nodded his head in understanding. “I am sure all will be well. You will see, soon we will hear of the demise of the Lannisters and the we will be marching back to the Twins to celebrate a great victory. I am sure your wedding will be even grander. Lord Walder won’t spare with his coin.”

Robb had almost forgotten about the wedding, but then he had had no time to think of girls or for that matter a bride. The idea of marrying a weasel-faced Frey girl was even less pleasing, but it couldn’t be helped. Not everyone was as blessed with beauty as his Lady Mother.

Yet, he didn’t want to insult the young man in front of him. The Freys were a strange brood of a family, but Olyvar Frey was decent enough and had served Robb loyally.

Thus, he decided to keep his real thoughts to himself.

“I am in complete agreement with you. I am sure _all _will be well.”

…


	27. Arya

**Arya**

The Princess Myrcella didn’t weep as she said her goodbyes, but Arya couldn’t care less about the girl or anyone else in this _damn_ castle. True, the girl had nothing to with her father’s fate, but whenever she looked at her, Arya couldn’t help but to see Cersei Lannister’s daughter in her. This pretty smile of hers and her golden hair was enough to make Arya want to scratch out her eyes. When she looked at Sansa she often felt the same way, though she had by now realized that her sister felt bad about what she had done. Still, that would never ease the pain she felt.

Jon was of a different opinion, but that was only because he didn’t want to disappoint Robb. Leaving Sansa here, would be wrong and dishonorable.

She had pondered all this while she had been watching Princess Myrcella take her leave from her brothers. Joffrey seemed uncomfortable, but young Prince Tommen was weeping like a little babe. Sansa said nothing, her hands crossed in front of her and the Hound looming over her like a dark shadow. Jon was also there in the crowd with the Princess Rhaenys, who looked just as grim as unhappy, as she watched the Princess Myrcella leave.

Tyrion had made Jon’s the Princess’s sworn sword and he was spending day and night with the girl. Jon seemed to like her because he never spoke ill about her, but Arya didn’t know what to make of her. During her short stay in Winterfell she had hardly spoken to her and now she was always being watched. Only that one time, in the godswood had she been able to speak openly to her brother.

Though one thing had become quite clear to Arya. Princess Rhaenys hated the Lannisters, as much as her and that made her an ally of sort, though Arya didn’t know if it was right of a Stark to work together with a Targaryen after all that had happened in the past. Well, her father had also been friends with King Robert and what had it brought him? Death.

_Old alliances were changing every day_, Arya mused and watched as the oars of the large galley rose and dipped. The _Robert’s Hammer_ was accompanied by two more ships, leaving for the Vale where the Princess Myrcella was meant to wed her cousin Sweetrobin. That fact alone made Arya more convinced that allegiances meant little these days. Lysa Arryn was her Aunt and yet she was serving the Lannisters. Truly, she was not an inch better than Sansa who had sold their father out to marry her beloved Joffrey.

Hot anger rose up inside her again, as she tightened her grip on her scratchy silk dress and wished she could just tear it off, so sick and tired she was of all this.

Yet, it was no use for she was still here in this_ damned_ place, the blabbering voice of the High Septon echoing over their heads. He was giving the Princess Myrcella her blessings, but Arya wished she was there instead of the Princess. She would have to marry Sweetrobin, but at least she would be away from this place and closer to home. Perhaps she would even be able to flee from the Vale. It was not that far from there to the Riverlands and Robb would never make her marry someone she didn’t want.

Yet, when she saw the galley glide out of the harbor she felt all her hope and dreams leave her at once.

“Come Arya,” she heard Sansa’s subdued voice behind her. “We must join the others.”

Arya took one last glance at the ship and followed after Sansa and the rest of Joff’s golden entourage. Lord Tyrion was also not far and neither was his sellsword, a man named Bronn. Jon seemed to like him, but Arya couldn’t bring herself to trust him despite his easy smiles.

Even, as the ship had left Prince Tommen was still weeping like a little babe. This displeased Joffrey.

“Stop mewling like a suckling babe,” Joff told his brother. “Princes aren’t supposed to cry.”

“Prince Aemon the Dragonkight cried the day Princess Naerys wed his brother Aegon,” Sansa pointed out softly and received an irritated look by Joffrey, though he usually treated her kindlier than most others.

“Whatever,” he muttered. “But a Prince isn’t supposed to cry.”

Arya snickered when she watched how the Hound had to help Joff on his white horse. Even Lord Tyrion proved more capable.

Along the way, Arya noticed the crowd of people that were being held back by the threat of spears and shields. Their cries were deafening and Arya covered her ears to blend them out.

She tried to focus on something else and watched the crimson-and-golden banners before her. They glimmered brightly in the sunlight and the rest of the entourage followed at an ever-slow pace. Once or twice, Arya looked back to find Jon and the Princess among the Kingsguard. Arya had learned their names by now. One was called Preston Greenfield and the other one Mandon Moore. Some lords were also there. There was silly Horas Redwyne, Lady Tanda and her daughter, Jalabhar Xho and a certain Gyles Rosby.

They all stared ahead, trying to ignore the angry and unwashed crowd. Only Jon sought Arya’s gaze now and then, probably to make sure that she was still there.

A few raised voices could be heard in passing. “Joffrey!”

“All hail! All hail!”

Yet, for every man who shouted, a hundred were growling their displeasure. Arya sensed the danger, but everyone else around her seemed oblivious to the unrest. The Queen Mother was even laughing, as she was speaking to Lancel Lannister.

Half along the way, a wailing woman forced her way past two watchmen and ran out to the king and his companions to hold out the corpse of her dad babe. It was all blue and swollen.

For a moment, Joffrey looked as if he was about to ride her over, but Sansa whispered something to him and he quickly flung the woman a silver stag.

As the golden coin bounced off the dead child and rolled away, under the legs of the gold cloaks, where a dozen men started fighting for it like madmen.

The mother had not even blinked.

“Leave her,” Cersei called out to Joff. ”She cannot be helped.”

Yet, it seemed the mother had heard her.

“Whore!” the woman raged. “Kingslayer’s whore! Brotherfucker!”

In the same breath, the dead child had dropped from the woman’s arms and in front of Cersei like a sack of flour.

Then it happened.

Arya heard Sansa’s gasp and when she turned around she saw that someone had thrown a handful of dung at Joff.

Joffrey was cursing, wiping brown filth from his cheek, his face red like blood.

“Who threw that?” he demanded to know. “I want the culprit’s head!”

“He was up there!” someone shouted from the crowd and they all looked up.

Joffrey repeated his command to the Hound.

The Hound did as he was bid and swung from his saddle, but there was no way through this wall of human flesh.

It was Lord Tyrion who held the Hound back.

Joffrey voiced his protest and waved with his hands like an angry toddler.

“I want him! Bring him here!”

A thousand voices blurred together, as the crowd started to surge against the spears of the gold cloaks, who were struggling to hold the line.

Arya clenched her teeth and moved forward. The whole world was spinning around her and it was hard for her to breathe. She saw Joff ride down two men, the Hound pulling Sansa aside and cutting apart a man in the same breath.

Her pounding heart made it only harder for her to think clearly.

If she had _Needle_, she would be safe, but stupid Joff took it away from her, like he had taken away her father.

“Arya!” a loud voice made her aware of the present and moment later she found herself being grabbed from behind. It was Jon. “Arya!”

The madness continued for a while longer, as Arya clung to Jon, as if her life depended on it. All she could hear was the shouting of the angry crowd and see Princess Rhaenys’ crimson dress in front her.

Only when they rode through the gates of the Red Keep were they allowed to breathe and Jon sat her back on the ground.

Arya was still shaking when she looked up at her brother, whose’ face was caked with shit, but that didn’t seem to bother him as much as Joff.

He was even smiling at Arya and touched her tousled hair.

“You are dirty as well,” her brother said and brushed the shit from her hair. “Did you not see it?”

Arya shook her head and looked up to find Princess Rhaenys brace herself against the wall. Her face was paler than usual and her dress was torn.

“Sansa is well,” Jon told Arya and pointed ahead, where Arya saw her sister leaning on the Hound’s arm. “You should go to her.”

Arya wanted nothing more than to stay, but she knew it was the only way. She needed to play along or they would lock her up again.

Sansa was very pale, but smiled when she saw Arya. “You are well.”

Arya nodded her head and soon enough they were led away.

Arya was forced to bath again and two ladies brushed her hair and made her put on a silken dress.

She hated that the most. The silk. It was so damn scratchy.

The only comfort was the cakes she saw laid out in Sansa’s chamber. Even at her worst day’s Arya Stark wouldn’t refuse cake and gobbled down one of her favorite ones before she even greeted her sister.

Usually, Sansa would have been displeased by such a rude behavior, but her sister only smiled sadly.

“You like those, don’t you?”

“I do,” Arya confirmed suspiciously. “And facing death makes one hungry.”

“I got them for you,” Sansa told her and continued to play with the skirt of her dress. “I hoped they would help to lift your spirit.”

“My spirit cannot be lifted,” Arya couldn’t help but to snap back. “A bit of cake cannot buy my loyalty. And if you want to hand out cake, give it to the starving people outside of these walls.”

Sansa’s face fell. “I just wanted to be nice.”

“A bit late for that,” Arya grumbled. Jon was not here to scold her. “You should have thought about that before.”

“I know,” Sansa said. “And I have thought about what Jon spoke about during our last meeting. You need to leave as soon as possible.”

Arya knew that herself and she believed there was a possibility, but she didn’t trust Sansa enough to speak with her about it. She decided she would tell Jon first and then she would ask him whether Sansa could be trusted.

“What about you?” Arya prodded instead.

“I will leave soon enough,” Sansa told Arya and averted her gaze. “I am to be hidden away with Prince Tommen due to my circumstances.”

“Your circumstances?” Arya asked in confusion.

Sansa looked at her again in that moment, her blue eyes filled with sadness.

“I am with child.”

Arya nearly dropped her half-eaten cake.

“Oh.”

…


	28. Daenerys

**Daenerys **

She didn’t know if she was dreaming or awake. Her past memories were blurring together with her dreams, leaving her no room for rest or reasoning. Sometimes, she found herself listening to the loud clashing of the waves against the hull of the ship.

In such moments of fear, she went to cradle her three dragon eggs in her arms. They felt warm as always and were the only company she had in the darkness of her prison. Only once a day, usually early in the morning, brought her food and a candle that only burned for an hour. How that was possible was another thing that eluded Dany’s mind, but then she didn’t even quite remember how she had come here.

One moment, she had been sitting in the gardens of the inn and a heartbeat later she had found herself waking on this strange ship, far away from Volantis or so she believed. She wasn’t sure, but at least a week must have come and gone, since she had been brought on this ship. Still, the coming and going of the food had been her only measure of time she could trust.

Not that it mattered to her. After nearly a week in complete darkness and only one quick wash Dany felt as if she was going mad. Her skin started to itch and her hair was greasy and clung to her face. The food was not any better, a tasteless porridge that filled her growling stomach, but gave no pleasure. That she would often vomit out half of it later into the pot she used to make water made the situation only worse. She didn’t know why, but ever since she had arrived in Volantis, she had felt sick and now that she had to endure the constant swaying of the ship it was getting worse by every passing day.

That she only got this strange wine to drink only added to her discomfort. Truth be told, when she had first laid eyes on the golden cup filled with blue wine she had wrinkled her nose, but after half a day without water she drank it like a desperate man who had crossed a desert.

Ever since, she had started drinking this strange brew her dreams were becoming more vivid and sometimes even disturbing. Last night, she had dreamed of being a dragon and had spread her imaginary wings impossibly wide, as she had soared over the River Trident. She had also been dressed in black armor, her crimson cloak flapping behind her like a whip.

In that moment, she had no longer felt weak, but like a true dragon. She had roared at the army of shining banners, trying to cross the broad river. Below, she had also heard the rushing of the water and the cries of the men when she had bathed them in hot flames. The Usurper was among them, swinging his war hammer with loud roar of defiance, but it had been no use, for the bright flames had devoured him skin and bone.

Thus, she had woken this very morning, finding herself weak and surrounded by darkness. Her head was also throbbing painfully, but that was the least of her problems.

She needed to get away from this ship. She needed to go back to Volantis and go home.

Yet, she had no idea how. Her prison was nothing more than a round chamber and there was not even a window to provide her with a view of the outside world. It was disheartening, for she never saw the person that came to bring her the food. It was always there in the morning, a bowl of porridge, the golden cup of blue wine and a single candle.

Today, it was not different and for Dany it was like a small moment of hope in a world full of despair, for it was only in that brief moment in the morning, that she was allowed to behold her surroundings.

Her stomach also demanded food and though she didn’t hesitate to gobble down the porridge, followed by the blue wine. The wine tasted sweet, but made her head throb. When she was done, she made water and lay down once more, though she was not trying sleeping to find sleep.

Instead she was watching the eggs, the flickering flame of the candle casting strange colors over its surface. These days, they were even hotter than usual, but they had yet to hatch.

Perhaps they could help her escape, but then that was another folly. They would be nothing but little babes.

And whatever her captors wanted from her, she doubted they would allow her to keep these dragons.

It were these troublesome thoughts, that filled her mind before she drifted off to sleep. Perhaps it had been the discomfort of being locked up or perhaps it had been the effect of the wine, but when she woke again she realized that her surroundings had changed.

Suddenly, she was no longer in the small round chamber full of darkness.

Now she was in a large spacious chamber furnished with a soft featherbed and beautiful colorful carpets.

Yet, the beauty of it all didn’t calm Dany. Fear filled her by this sudden change and her racing heart only stopped when she saw her dragon eggs placed in the beautiful box beside the hearth.

She didn’t hesitate to climb out of the bed, naked as she was, her feet touching the soft Myrish carpet below, as she rushed towards the eggs.

As her fingers brushed over the surface, she felt the heat and the familiar pounding inside.

It was like a heartbeat, but she found herself distracted when the iron door behind her made a cracking sound.

Dany quickly covered her breasts and her woman place, as she took in the strange man that was standing in the door.

He was tall and lean, his head shaved and his lips blue.

He was smiling at her, as he bowed his head and crossed his long-sleeved arms in front of his belly.

“Princess Daenerys,” he said. “Welcome in my home.”

Then, he stepped aside and allowed two servants to enter her chamber. They wore similar long robes of silk and their heads were also shaved, but they looked much younger than their master. One was a girl and the other a boy, so much Dany could tell by the small breasts showing beneath the girl’s folded robe.

The boy placed a tray of food on the table beside Dany’s bed and the girl offered her a robe of smooth silk that ran like water through her fingers.

The food smelled just as delicious. It was some sort of fresh soup with soft bread, but there was also the familiar golden cup with the blue wine.

“Can I have some water please?” she asked the strange man with the blue lips. “Your wine is making my head squirm.”

“The wine gives you the truth,” the man said and drew closer. “Tell me, what did you dream?”

“I dreamed I was a dragon,” Dany replied and rose to her feet before sitting down before the table. She took the spoon, but she didn’t dare to eat while the man was watching her. “And burned my enemies.”

“The comet has appeared,” the man replied and smiled. “It is a sign of the gods. It means that magic will soon return to the world. The shade of the evening revealed this truth to you and me.”

Dany could tell that by his blue lips, but that was not the answer she longed for.

“What do you want from me?”

“Your help,” the man replied and walked backwards to the door. “To lead our kind back to greatness.”

“Greatness?” Dany asked. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” he replied and lowered his head once more. “And the rest of us you will meet very soon, Princess Daenerys, but for the time being you ought to rest. Your travel has been long and troublesome. A bath would serve you as well. My loyal servant Shala will take care of it if you wish.”

With these words, the boy servant slipped out of the door and the gates were closed again. Only the servant girl had remained, her dark eyes watching Dany with great expectations.

Dany smiled, who was glad to finally speak to another human being.

“So, you are called Shala?”

The girl nodded her head.

“Can’t you speak?” Dany asked.

The girl nodded her head and opened her mouth, showing her cut-out tongue.

Dany shuddered and backed away.

All hunger fled her in that moment and all she longed for was a hot bath to clean herself and calm her mind.

“I am not hungry,” she told the girl. “I want a bath instead.”

The girl nodded her head and rose to her feet to brush aside a long red curtain, only to reveal another door, leading into another room where Dany found a small round bath carved into the sleek white stone wall. It was already filled to the brim with steaming water.

It was like magic, but that made Dany distrust this place even more.

Yet, she didn’t refuse the offer and climbed into the water.

She sighed and the water helped to ease away her pain in her shoulders. Then, she started to scrub herself clean until her skin was red and burning.

Only when she noticed the presence of the girl, did she stop.

“What do you want?” she asked the girl, but received no answer.

Instead, she pointed at her and then at the other room.

Dany frowned and climbed out of the water. The girl was quick to offer her a towel to scrub herself clean before she put on her robe.

“What did you want?” she asked and looked around. No one was there.

The girl nodded her head and pointed at the food.

“Oh,” Dany said. “Must I eat?”

The girl nodded her head and Dany heard her growling stomach.

Perhaps it had been the bath, but she sat down and ate the whole bowl of soup without a break.

Yet, she stopped herself at the wine.

“I don’t like it,” she told the girl, who had watched her all the while she had been eating. “It makes my head squirm. I won’t drink it.”

She didn’t know why, but her words must have roused something in the servant girl, for she was suddenly standing in front of Dany and picked up the cup.

Then, she held it in front of Dany’s nose.

Dany felt as if she was stuck in a bad dream.

“I won’t drink it.”

It was the wrong choice, for the servant girl was suddenly grabbing Dany’s arm with one hand and tried to force the wine down her lips with the other.

Dany tried to fight, but it was no use. The girl was inhumanly strong.

Not long after, half the liquid had been forced down her mouth and she found the world spinning madly.

She tried to steady herself on the bed, but then she collapsed and darkness took her once more.

…


	29. Cersei

**Cersei**

Cersei watched with displeasure, as her little brother was breaking his cooked egg as if he had all the time in the world. That he was her son’s Hand made it only worse, for Cersei had only ever wished for one thing when it came to her brother. That he would die a painful death to pay for his crime of taking her mother from this world.

That he had now power over her as well, made it all the harder for her to remain polite. Yet, the worst of all was that her father didn’t trust her to handle matters on her own. She had been Queen for nearly fifteen long years and while Robert had been fucked himself through the Seven Kingdoms, she had shown interest in the governance of the realm, though Robert had never seen it fit to include her in any feasible way. Instead he had trusted this feeble old fool Jon Arryn and had employed bootlickers like Littlefinger and Varys and the worst of all, his brother Stannis, a man who thought it possible to abolish brothels. At least, Varys and Littlefinger were useful at times, but Stannis and Jon Arryn…the world was better off without these kind of men. The same could be said about Lord Eddard Stark, but then it had only been Robert’s friendship with the grim Lord of the North that had brought about his short tenancy as Hand of the King. Cersei even pitied it in hindsight. He had been far too naïve to endure in this place and had died for it.

His daughter, the little bird, was another matter. Cersei had at first been pleased when the girl had come to her to tell her freely to tell her about her father’s plans, but she hadn’t expected that her own son would plot against her. Truth be told, she had never been happy about the match Jon Arryn had arranged between Joff and Elia Martell’s plain daughter. She had never been worthy of her Joffrey, but the Stark girl had fooled her and there was nothing more than Cersei hated than being fooled. The prophecy of the woods witch was also fluttering constantly in her head these days…

When Cersei had first laid eyes on the Stark girl, she had seen in her as nothing more than a pretty little bird, but now after she had not only managed to marry her son, but was also carrying his child she was becoming wary of the girl.

How much power would Joff allow her once the Stark girl had born him a son?

It was a thought that frightened Cersei more than facing Stannis.

No, she couldn’t allow that to happen, but then she couldn’t kill the girl either. She was carrying her grandson and her father would have her head if she harmed his blood nor would Joff ever forgive her.

“You seem very depressed today, sweet sister,” Tyrion remarked, as he shoved the yellow liquid of the egg into his mouth. The rest of his meal was accompanied by roasted beacon and freshly-baked bread, a luxury only reserved for them. The bakers in the city had long run out of flour and had closed their stalls. Only yesterday, the gold cloaks had killed a good dozen of fools, who had tried to break open the granaries of a rich merchant. It had been a blood bath, but Cersei couldn’t care less about these peasants. They should just shut up and accept their place. “What is bothering you that you came here to watch me eat?”

“I want to know where you are going to send the Stark girl,” Cersei said and eyed her brother’s ugly face for a sign of weakness. Yet, he only gave her one of his ugly smiles. “She carries my grandson and I am worried about her health. That is all.”

“She is going to pose as a servant girl and if the worst were to happen, she will be sent off to Casterly Rock, where neither Stannis nor Renly could harm her. Yet, I do not quite believe you, sweet sister. There is another reason you are here. Have one of your foolish spies already told you the newest rumors?”

“And what rumours are these?” Cersei asked, displeased that Tyrion knew about her spies. Truly, these girls were utterly useless. “Please, enlighten me, little brother.”

“Lord Hand,” Tyrion corrected her and smiled again. “That Renly Baratheon was supposedly slain by his brother’s assassin, though others say it was one of his knights…a Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

“Stannis must have hired a capable man,” Cersei said and leaned forward. “And I think the tale about the Lady Knight is something his guardsmen made up to hide their failure. Well, it also means that Stannis will soon come knocking at our doors. How long?”

“At best, a week or two,” Tyrion said, his ugly smile finally gone from his lips. “Renly was pleased to just sit and wait, but Stannis, he is a man driven by something far more terrible than a wish for power, but justice. I fear, without father, we are will have a hard time to face this threat.”

“So, you have already informed him of our situation?” Cersei asked. Tyrion could not be relied on, but her father, he had never disappointed her in all her life. He would come for them.

“I have,” Tyrion replied. “I have also sent an envoy to Highgarden, but I have little hope in that matter. A betrothal to a Second Son is not as pleasing as a betrothal to the King.”

“I have an easy solution for you problem,” Cersei said and smiled at her brother. “Have the Marrywaters kill the girl and we shall have our allegiance with the Tyrells.”

“Only to give the North another martyr,” Tyrion replied. “Sorry, but I am not interested, sweet sister. Royce and Redfort have already changed sides because of their sons, who can say what will happen if I kill a girl pregnant with a babe? This might even rouse the rest of the Vale lords against us.”

“You are too weak, little brother,” Cersei remarked. “The little bitch has fooled us and deserves a proper punishment.”

“The little bitch carries our kin,” Tyrion pointed out. “And while I am no man of great values, I do not wish to be a Kinslayer.”

“Good to know that you discovered your faith in these last weeks, little brother,” Cersei snapped. “You will need it when the you are going to face the gods, but I doubt it will keep you from ending up in the seven hells.”

“I do not intend to face the gods yet,” Tyrion replied and lifted his cup to his lips. He drank deeply and then he hopped from his chair. His sellsword friend was already waiting for him at the door. “I intend to grow very old and die while a pretty whore his sucking on my cock.”

He flashed her one last smile, as he stopped in front of the door.

“And it would be better for you stop fretting. Seek out Lancel and enjoy yourself, sweet sister.”

Cersei had tightened her grip on her silken skirt when she had heard this. She had known that her brother was spying on her, but she hadn’t known that he already knew about her bed companions while she had yet to find a weakness of his.

In Casterly Rock her brother had always had a whore that was his favorite for a moon or two, but since he had come to King’s Landing he hadn’t taken any fancy for a particular girl.

It was maddening, but then Cersei’s mind came back to Eddard Stark’s bastard. She didn’t know what her little brother wanted with him, but she was sure it had to with Tyrion’s liking for the downtrodden. Or was there another reason? Perhaps her little brother had something particular in mind for the bastard? And perhaps the bastard could also be of use to her? Perhaps he was the weakness she had been searching for…

He was also quite comely, despite being born of Eddard Stark’s seed. It wouldn’t be a pain to fuck him. He also seemed much smarter than Lancel, which would provide her with some necessary change.

It was a rather tempting idea and Cersei didn’t hesitate to get through with it, though she couldn’t just call the bastard to her. Thus, she invited Princess Rhaenys Princess to her.

“It is very kind of you that you called us here, your Grace,” Princess Rhaenys said politely, as she eyed her cup of tea resting on her lap. Cersei could read the distrust and hatred in her dark eyes. She had always looked at her like that, even when she was a little girl. Robert had not seen it, but he had never seen anything beyond his cock. “I am always honored to be in your presence.”

“That is kind to hear,” Cersei replied, though she would prefer if she could just cut off the girl’s head and be rid of her. “I hope you like your lemon cake…it’s our little Queen’s favorite dish.”

Princess Rhaenys smiled tightly while the bastard, who stood at the door, grimaced. “It is also one of my favorite cakes. Our Queen has good taste.”

“Does she?” Cersei asked and put a piece of lemon cake into her mouth. She chewed slowly, but was quick to swallow the sweet dish. “It is good to hear that you think so highly of our queen. Sadly, you will no longer be queen.”

“It cannot be helped,” Princess Rhaenys said and sweetly. “Our gracious King has made his choice and I have heard she is already expecting. How wonderful for you to become a grandmother, your Grace.”

Cersei gritted her teeth at the girl’s reply. She had hoped to see her more distraught. The girl had had the possibility of wedding her precious son and she didn’t look the least bit sad about it. She was always an ungrateful little girl.

Yet, Cersei couldn’t afford to show her weakness.

And it was not the Princess she wanted to speak to, but the bastard.

“What do you think about that, Ser Jon?” she asked the young man, who had watched them from the distance. “Are you happy for your sister?”

The young man forced a smile over his lips. “I am happy for her, your Grace.”

“You are a good brother,” Cersei remarked and leaned forward to eye him more closely. “Not many bastards would show so much liking for their trueborn siblings. Where you never jealous of them?”

The boy looked back at her with these strange dark eyes. At first, she had believed them to be grey, but now that she was looking at them more closely, she realized that they were much darker. They looked nothing like Eddard Stark’s grim gaze.

“I was always jealous of Robb for being the heir,” Eddard Stark’s bastard replied at last. “At times I even hated him, but that is nothing compared to my dislike for his mother. She blamed me for what happened to my brother. She is also part of the reason I have joined your cause. I was sick and tired of living in the shadows.”

Cersei chuckled. She had expected such an answer, though she had to admit it was hard to say whether he boy was lying or not. He had a very unreadable face.

“So, I have heard,” Cersei said and smiled. “And your father? Are you not the least be saddened by his passing?”

“He was my father, but he never treated me as his son,” the boy replied faster than Cersei had expected. “I do not know what to think of his passing. I only know that he was a traitor and that I must think of myself.”

“A good answer,” Cersei said and looked over at Princess Rhaenys, who was still eying her untouched cup of tea. It must have long turned cold, but she had not even taken a sip. The girl smart. She had to give her that. “And you my, sweet Princess? What about your future? Have you thought about it?”

The Princess’s lips changed to a thin line, but she didn’t allow her feelings to overtake her. Her voice remained even as ever.

“I have not, but I am sure you have something in mind, your Grace.”

“I have,” Cersei replied and smiled. “What do you think of my brother?”

The Princess Rhaenys dark eyes narrowed. “Who, your Grace? Ser Jaime or Lord Tyrion?”

“Lord Tyrion, now the Hand of the King,” Cersei teased. “A good match.”

The Princess’s lack of an immediate answer was telling enough. Yet, she managed an answer at last.

“Your brother is a fine man.”

“Well, then we should speak about a possible match for you,” Cersei added sweetly. “I am sure my father will agree.”

“Sure,” the Princess replied tightly and rose to her feet. She looked suddenly very pale around the face and Cersei could see that her legs were trembling. “We shall talk about it soon enough, your Grace, but now I must ask to leave. I fear I am not feeling well.”

“Of course,” Cersei replied and waved her hand at the girl to dismiss her. “Go and rest well. I wouldn’t want you to get sick.”

“I thank you, your Grace,” the Princess said and dropped a quick curtsy, her gaze darting to the bastard, but Cersei didn’t allow him to go yet.

“Ser Jon,” she called after him and flashed him a disarming smile. “Would you mind staying a while longer? I think Ser Meryn will be pleased to escort Princess Rhaenys back to the Maidenvault.”

The bastard bit his lips, but knew his manners. “Of course, I am pleased to serve in whatever way you sit fit, your Grace.”

Cersei couldn’t help but to smile, but waited a while longer until the Princess had finally left the room.

Then, she waved her hand at the bastard.

“Come a bit closer,” she prodded.

The bastard complied and stepped closer. He loomed over Cersei, but was squirming beneath her gaze. Even so, something cold and distant remained about him. It was intriguing.

“You are comely for a Stark,” Cersei said and rose to her feet, her eyes roaming over his long, but even-shaped face. This was all Ned Stark, but not these full lips and straight nose. These features belonged to someone else, probably to his mother. “And rather tall. Who was, your mother?”

“I do not know, your Grace,” the young man replied and sucked in a deep breath, as she touched his waist. “My father never told me.”

“A pity,” Cersei added and didn’t hesitate to touch him between his legs. The reaction was immediate. He jumped backwards and made a sweet gasp. It was incredibly amusing, but at least he didn’t start stammering like Lancel. “Every boy needs a mother.”

“Perhaps,” the young man replied, but regained his composure rather quickly. He looked flustered, but that was no surprise. Cersei was about to be a grandmother, but every day when she looked at herself in the morning she still saw a desirable woman and she doubted the bastard ever had anything better than a whore in his bed. “I do not know.”

“Have you ever lain with a girl?” Cersei asked and waved her hand at him. “And do not be so shy. There is nothing to be afraid.”

“I have,” the young man replied and stepped closer. “A proper girl.”

“One girl?” Cersei asked and touched his waist once more. He didn’t move again, but she could see how tense his jaw was. “You are far too comely for so few girls. Do they have no girls in Winterfell?”

“I rather not talk about it, your Grace,” Eddard Stark’s bastard replied.

She didn’t accept this answer, though. Her hand dropped back where it had been moments ago.

“Your father was the reason, wasn’t he?” she guessed.

“I do not want to talk about it,” Eddard Stark’s bastard replied through gritted teeth. “My father…I think you know why.”

He took her and brushed it away rather gently.

Cersei was only more intrigued. Jaime had been like this when she had first lain with him.

It seemed a bit more prodding was needed here to get what she wanted.

“I think I do,” Cersei said and touched his shoulder. “It must have been hard to be the son of an honorable man like Eddard Stark? You had little enjoyment in your life, didn’t you?”

“Perhaps,” the young man replied tensely, but this time he didn’t brush her hand away.

On the contrary, he simply looked at her. “Would it bring me any advantage?”

Cersei was completely taken back by his words, but his directness only aroused her more. She was already wet.

Lancel and had never managed to do that. If he wasn’t a bastard he might have even made a passable lord. More than Eddard Stark had ever been.

For the bastard showed no fear in front of a lioness.

“Many,” Cersei said and smiled gain, as her hand drifted lower and into his breeches. The boy bit his lips, but didn’t move. “Many more than my brother could give you, but before that you must prove your loyalty.”

The bastard didn’t move, as she continued touching him. She had to give him that. He had more self-control than Jaime.

“And what do I have to do to…prove my loyalty?” he forced the question through his lips and squeezed his eyes shut.

Cersei waited until his head fell back and a groan spilled from his lips.

The boy was now staring back at her with flushed cheeks.

Cersei smiled at him.

“Come to me on the morrow I shall tell you what I want.”

“As you wish,” Eddard Stark’s bastard replied in a flustered tone and dropped his head in reverence, as he still fumbling with his breeches. “I shall be there, your Grace.”

…


	30. Robb

**Robb**

Robb’s felt, as if someone had cracked open his skull. His temples were throbbing painfully and his world before him consisted of shifting shadows and blinding light. He groaned, as he tried to roll unto his side, but it made him end up in an even odder position. He found himself entangled in his bedding and nearly ended up falling out of bed.

“Let me help you, your Grace,” a gentle voice told him and someone touched his shoulder.

Robb nearly jumped out of his skin when this person had touched his shoulder, but when he turned around and saw that it was only a young girl he calmed down immediately.

“Who are you?” Robb asked, as he touched his head. It was also then that he realized that his chest and shoulder were covered with thick wool bindings. They were also blemished with blood and his entire body trembled with pain, as he tried to move. “Where am I?”

“The Crag,” the girl replied politely and folded her arms in front of her. She had a very pale complexion, but her lips were full and soft. Her smile was even sweeter. ”You took it three days ago, your Grace.”

Her words brought back blurred memories of a brief siege that had ended with the Greatjon breaking through the gates. Robb had partaken in the storming of the castle in company of his Wolfsguard and had cut down several men. The last thing he recalled was fighting at the battlements and a guardsman that had tried to butcher him with a maze. Robb had managed to kill him, but he had dealt him a terrible blow to his helmet, which was also the last of his memories…

“I see,” he said and eyed the girl once more, as he pulled the bedding up to his chest. He was naked beneath, but the girl didn’t seem bothered by his state. By her simple dress he took her for a servant girl, but when she smiled she revealed pearl white teeth. “And who are you?”

“I am Lady Jeyne Westerling,” the girl was quick to introduce herself and rose to her feet. Her dress was covered with blood and other substances Robb didn’t know. “It is a pleasure to meet the King of the North.”

Robb couldn’t help but to chuckle. “I took your home. How come you are so polite to me?”

She brushed her braid over her shoulder and smiled playfully, as she walked to the door.

“Nothing interesting ever happens here, your Grace. And you do not look like me as the terrifying wolf our King is trying to paint you as. At least not, when you are lying in bed like this and are snoring peacefully like a little babe.”

Robb was amused by the girl’s brazen answer.

“I am sorry if I bothered you, my Lady,” Robb replied and smiled. “Have you taken care of me?”

“It was no bother,” Jeyne replied and dropped a quick curtsy before she opened the door. “And I think you should rest, your Grace. I shall bring you supper and tell the Maester to prepare you a cup of milk of the poppy. Your arm will be hurting for a long while. You are very lucky to have survived.”

Robb shuddered. The pounding of his head only increased, as he tried to remember what had happened and decided to let it be.

Instead he called after Jeyne.

“My Lady,” he said and waved his hand at her. “Would you be so kind and call my squire to me? Olyvar is his name…Olyvar Frey.”

“Of course,” Jeyne replied quickly and was gone a heartbeat later.

Robb made use of the moment to rise to his feet, but he barely managed to stand and sat back down a moment later. He couldn’t put on his tunic either, for his wounded shoulder made it almost impossible to move. Yet, he somehow managed to pull on his breeches, his boots and somehow managed to wrap his furred cloak around his shoulders, though the garment had half slipped from his back when Olyvar came to see him.

He smiled when he saw Robb, but he was more anxious as ever, as he sat down and recounted everything that had happened during Robb’s slumber.

“Lord Westerling has surrendered the castle to us. There has been no more resistance.”

“Where is Greywind?” Robb asked and looked around. His slumber had been strangely devoid of wolf dreams. “Did he get hurt?”

“No, “Olyvar assured him quickly. “But the ladies of the castle were afraid of him and so the Blackfish suggested we lock him in the kennels until you wake.”

“Keep him there until…until I am able to go there myself. I do not wish to frighten them,” Robb replied and pushed the bowl away. He couldn’t eat more and took a sip from his cup of wine. The milk of the poppy would work soon enough and the pain in his arm told Jeyne was had been right. It was hard to endure the pain. “What about the rest of Westeros? Have there been any news from the Riverlands?”

When Olyvar averted his gaze and said nothing, Robb knew that something was wrong.

“Out with it, Olyvar.”

“It seems Lord Tywin tried to cross the Red Fork, your Grace, and your Uncle Lord Edmure stopped him.”

Robb nearly dropped his cup and clenched his teeth, but not in pain.

_Fool_, he thought, but didn’t mean his Uncle, but himself. _I should have told him._

“I see,” Robb said at last and exhaled deeply. “Where is Lord Tywin now?”

Olyvar shrugged his shoulders. “I do not know, but the Blackfish thinks he will ride for King’s Landing to defend it against Stannis. You see…The rumors say that Renly is dead and that he was slain by an assassin.”

“Gods be good!” Robb exclaimed and brushed his sweaty hair out of his face. ”Is there any word of my mother?”

“Not yet,” Olyvar said and came to stand in front of him. “But the Blackfish is sure that she is well.”

“Speaking of the Blackfish,” Robb said and rubbed his temples. ”Where is he?”

“There has been some resistance,” Olyvar explained. “He took command of your men and decided take care of the matter himself. He should return in the matter a week and he told me to take care of you.”

“And you told the girl…Lady Jeyne to take care of me?” Robb asked.

“I did,” Olyvar said. “Lady Jeyne had been skillfully taking care of the other men and the Maester is a man I don’t trust. The fool is constantly drunk. Well, the girl she seems very honest and kind. I watched her every move, though and always make sure that she doesn’t do anything unseemly.”

“I believe you,” Robb said at last and waved his hand. “And I thank you for your efforts. Is there more I need to know?”

Olyvar paled visibly, his lips trembling.

“Your Grace…I think that should wait until…,” Olyvar began, but Robb wanted to hear none of it. He was no little boy, but a King. He couldn’t hide away from the truth, no matter how terrible.

“Tell me.”

Olyvar took a deep breath and gave Robb a pitiful look, as he stepped closer to touch his shoulder.

“They say Winterfell has been taken by the Ironborn…,” he said and paused, his eyes filling with tears. “They also say Theon Greyjoy mounted the heads’ of your brothers upon the walls of Winterfell.”

Robb said nothing, for there was no word that could express the pain he felt.

He didn’t even hear Olyvar’s protests when he demanded of him to leave nor did he recall how he had ended up back in bed.

When he woke he felt, as if someone had burned his eyes with a fire. He must have cried.

“Your Grace,” rang Jeyne’s voice in her ears. She was looming above him, as he turned to look at her. “Are you well?”

“I am well,” Robb replied and brushed her hand away, though not in a rough way. He wanted to see no one. He just wanted to be alone. “I am well.”

Yet, the Jeyne didn’t go. She simply shook her head and rose to her feet. “I do not think so, your Grace. Here drink this. It is going to make the pain disappear.”

She offered him a cup of milk, holding it to her lips.

Robb drank a little before he told her to put the cup away, but he didn’t force her to go.

“The pain in my arm is _indeed_ better now,” Robb said and felt the effect of the milk of the poppy already doing its work. It made him feel strangely light, as if he was walking on clouds, the world him was spinning in circles. “But not the pain in my heart.”

“I think what you need most of all is to rest, your Grace,” Jeyne whispered and her hands brushed ghostly over his shoulders, as Robb settled back into his bed and allowed the darkness to take him once more.

When he woke again, his headache was finally gone, but his shoulder still felt incredibly sore. The realization of what had happened hit him even harder, as he found Jeyne standing over a bowl of water. She was wringing out dirty wool linens that painted the water crimson.

She turned around when she noticed that he was awake and a relieved smile crossed her lips.

“I am glad,” Jeyne said and eyed him with furrowed brows, as Robb tried his best to pull his legs over the bed. He could see that she felt the urge to help him, but she minded her manners and remained where she was. “Do you want me to call for someone? Your squire or Ser Brynden?”

“The Blackfish has returned?” Robb asked, as he placed his trembling legs on the ground. His shoulder ached him, but not as badly as it had last time. “Did he come to see me?”

“He came a day a go to see how you are faring,” Jeyne explained and pulled off her apron, her braid tumbling over her shoulder as she turned towards him. She inspected his shoulder with gentle touches and smiles. “But you were sleeping and I told him to leave you. I also had to renew the stitching of your wound.”

“Who thought you these kind of things?” Robb asked and watched, as she undid the wool binding and re-fastened it just as quickly. He knew he should speak to the Blackfish, but he felt no urge to speak to anyone he knew. He felt that he couldn’t bear to see their pitiful looks. This girl was different. She didn’t know his brothers. They were nothing to her. It made it so much easier to speak. “You are after all the daughter of a high lord.”

“My grandmother thought my mother,” she explained quickly and blushed. “And my mother thought me. Being a high lord’s daughter is rather boring. To learn such things is a good distraction. It also makes me feel useful.”

“My sister Arya would agree with you,” Robb said and tried to stand once more, but when he saw it was no use he allowed himself to fall back into bed. Soon enough, his head was swimming and his shoulder hurt once more. ”Would you bring me another cup? I think I have need of it…the pain is returning.”

Jeyne nodded her head. “But first you should eat. A soup at least. It will give you strength. I shall call for your squire…,” she began, but Robb cut her off.

“Leave Olyvar be,” he said and pulled the bedding back over his shoulders. “I would prefer you brought it to me with another cup of milk of the poppy.”

The girl didn’t protest and dropped a quick curtsy before she fluttered out of the room. Not long after, she returned in company of a younger girl that helped her carrying her belongings. They shared the same heart-shaped face and brown hair, but the younger one seemed less a lady. She had something of a little imp about her, as she eyed Robb curiously. He felt more like a beast on a fair than a human in that moment, but Jeyne was quick to shove her sister out of the room.

“She never minds her manners,” Jeyne sighed, but smiled. Robb could see that she loved her sister. It made him lose all his appetite. “Sometimes, I don’t know what to do with her.”

“Have you brought me the milk of the poppy, my Lady?”

“Of course,” she told him and placed the cup in front of him. “But I think you should eat first. There is some soup and bread.”

She placed the steaming bowl of soup and the bread in front of him and he half expected her to feed him, but to his relief he managed to eat own his own with his left hand, albeit rather clumsily.

He even caught Jeyne laughing at him, though she was pretending to eye the rug on the floor.

“You are the older sister?” Robb asked after he had put the spoon into his mouth for the first time. The soup was hot and spicy, a welcome change from the milk of the poppy, but his appetite was still lacking. ”Do you have other siblings?”

“I have two brothers,” Jeyne explained averted her gaze. “Like you.”

Robb nodded his head and put the spoon away. “But you are wrong. I have three brothers.”

Jeyne looked up in surprise.

“But I heard…,” she began, but Robb silenced her with a sad smile, as he picked up the cup to bring it to his lips. He drank half of it before he shifted his attention back to Jeyne, who was still eying him with these large and lovely brown eyes.

“My brother Jon is a bastard. That is why the Blackfish did not mention him, but that doesn’t make him anything less my brother.”

Jeyne nodded her head in understanding. “I have heard of him. They say he tried to kill your other brother.”

Robb wanted to deny it, but then he recalled what Jon was doing and shut his mouth. He was after all in the Westerlands and this girl was Tywin Lannister’s subject.

“Let us not speak about him,” Robb said and took another sip from his cup. It made him feel calmer and eased his worries away or perhaps it had also to do with the girl’s presence. She reminded him a little of Sansa, but there were also hints of Arya in her. It made him long for his sisters and his home, but Winterfell was now occupied by the enemy. It all felt so terribly unreal and if he wasn’t so exhausted he might even feel anything else beyond grief. “Tell my about your sister…or anything else.”

She did as he asked of her and told her all kinds of silly tales about her childhood, as he settled back in bed to rest. It was all too easy for him to slip away and to forget about his pain.

When he woke again, it was dark safe for a candle burning at the table beside Jeyne’s armchair.

Robb’s head felt lighter, as he sat up, but the pain was still there and Jeyne as well.

She was sleeping, her chin resting on her chest and her head nuzzling the cushion she had placed there.

She was roused by his sudden movement and her dark eyes eyed her surroundings fearfully.

Only when she noticed him did another lovely smile cross her lips. It warmed him from the inside out, like a war summer breeze after a terrible storm.

Yet, even now he felt like a failure, the pain burning in his heart like a twisting blade.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping there,” he said, as if in a dream, but that is how he felt. Unreal and distant, as if this was really just a figment of his imagination and he would wake soon to find that all Olyvar had told him was a lie. Fresh, tears burned in his eyes, as he spoke once more, his tongue working on its own accord. “You should have a soft featherbed…like in the songs. Would you like to share mine?”

Jeyne eyed him in silence and bit her lips. Then she rose to her feet and started to fumble with the buttons of her dress…

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I am the minority in this fadom...but I quite like Jeyne Westerling. She defended Robb against her shitty mother in the books...and I actually do think Robb loved her. 
> 
> Maybe she loved him more and he was driven by duty, but I do think he cared for her.
> 
> At least that was my impression of him in the books.
> 
> And that said: I hate Talisa the travelling nurse. I remember watching season 2 and really disliking this season compared to season 1 due to the unnecessary changes to Robb's, Jon's and Dany's storylines. Season 3 was what brought me back and season 4 was probably the high poin, but well...the rest you know.
> 
> They could just have taken the existing character and fleshed her out...
> 
> Well, they also turned Ygritte and Jon's storyline into a story about mocking and hatred. In the books Ygritte never mocks Jon about his virginity...they bond over the tale of Bael the Bard.
> 
> Only DnD would make it about cocks.
> 
> And that is the sad tale of GoT. A story ruined by two men who are to obesses with their small cocks.


	31. Jon

**Jon**

Jon could barely focus on Tyrion’s jesting. Instead he poured down his memories with another cup of wine. It was the only way to live these days, but it was no use, for the memories of the past nights were always creeping back into his mind.

Three days ago, he had done what Cersei Lannister had gone to attend to her after he had left Princess Rhaenys. She had awaited him in a low-cut dress of crimson, her mane of golden hair had been spilling freely over her breasts that had been visible through the thin garment. Jon had never felt more uncomfortable than in this moment. Even Robb’s nameday gift to his fourteenth birthday had been rather unpleasant. His brother had seen it fit to drag him to the brothel in Wintertown and had bought him the services of Ross the red-haired whore that Theon seemed to favor above all. Jon had managed to strip all the way to his breeches, but had been unable to fuck Ross, despite her vivid beauty. His fear of tarnishing his father’s honor had held him back, but barely a handful of moons later she had lain with a girl. Jeyne was her name and she had been as sweet as a summer breeze.

Cersei Lannister had been very different. She had not been sweet or encouraging. She had given him a cup of wine, had forced him to pull off his breeches and had mounted him in the same breath.

_Sweet_, she had called it, but Jon had felt no sweetness. His cock had played its role well enough, but afterwards he had felt only disgust and had drowned himself in a cup of wine.

_I did it for Arya_, he thought and lifted his gaze. _And Sansa and Robb._ _I could have never refused her. It would have been far too dangerous._

“You are silent as ever, Jon,” Tyrion remarked, as he continued to pull the last pieces of meat from the chicken legs they had for supper. “I had hoped my gift would lift your spirits.”

With gift, Tyrion meant the visit to a brothel. Well, it was owned by a dark-skinned woman that seemed to like Tyrion, for they had traded japes with each other for half an hour before they had been allowed entrance into the solar. There they had been served more wine, sweet cakes and the girls had of course attended to them, but Tyrion had told the lady that he needed a proper supper first and thus they had ordered supper and had spent the rest of the evening drinking and eating. Well, Tyrion and his friend, the sellsword Bronn, had been eating. Jon had barely touched his plate and Bronn had promptly offered himself up to clean Jon’s plate.

Half-way through the meal, three girls had joined them. One was red-haired and graced with large teats, another blond-haired and green-eyed and the last one looked very familiar. Shae was her name and she was currently occupying the seat next to Tyrion. At times, she was whispering to him or feeding him with grapes or strawberries.

It made him just as uncomfortable, as the blond-haired girl next to him was brushing her hand up and down her arm. It made him also wonder whether Tyrion had chosen the girl intentionally.

Was he aware of his entanglement with his sister? Jon wouldn’t put it past him. In this place, everyone knew everything about everyone. It was a true pain in the ass.

He also recalled the Queen’s demands.

_I want you to spy on my brother_, she had told him and had stroked his cock before mounting him again. _And in return I might grant you a favor._

Truth be told_, _Jon had observed Tyrion more than ever, but he wouldn’t call it spying, because Tyrion rarely allowed him to be present when he was talking to important people. Cersei Lannister was really settling on the false horse here, but then she didn’t seem very observant to Jon. She was the kind of woman who was constantly prattling on about herself and didn’t seem to care much about the other people around her. At times, she reminded him even a little of Sansa, though his half-sister certainly lacked the Cersei Lannister’s vicious character.

“Hey, boy!” Bronn called out to him and snapped Jon back to the present. “The Lord Hand spoke to you!”

He had also thrown a grape at Jon’s head that was now lying right in front of him on the table. The golden-haired girl that sat was still sitting beside Jon as giggling. Jon’s cheeks burned with embarrassment.

“I heard you,” Jon said and cradled his cup of wine between his hands. It was nearly empty, but then he probably had enough for tonight. At least, that was what his father would say. Yet, his father was dead and gone. Jon knew that he had to rely on himself and the wine helped him with that, especially because Cersei had informed him that she would be waiting for him tonight. The thought alone was enough to make bile rise up in his throat. “I am just not in the mood to celebrate our coming death.”

Tyrion laughed and leaned back in his chair, as he continued to fondle Shae’s breast. “See, Shae! Jon is also doubting me!”

“Oh, my poor lion!” the girl cooed and kissed his cheek. “I have no doubt that you will win the day!”

“Well, I am with Jon in this matter,” Bronn teased and pulled the whore from his lap. “And now I am taking my leave to attend to his lady. You paid for her after, my Lord Hand. I am not going to spurn this generous offer and neither should you, my boy!”

Jon nodded his head and forced a smile over his lips, as he looked at the girl beside him. She couldn’t be older than twenty and her sharp face was pretty enough. Especially, her full lips looked very kissable and he always preferred the smaller chested girls, but her bright green eyes irritated him and reminded him of the pleasant night that lay ahead of him.

It was also time for him to leave and most of all she didn’t want to rouse Cersei’s displeasure.

“Please, my Lord,” Jon apologized and rose to his feet. He smiled at Tyrion. “Please do not think that I do not appreciate your offer, but I am exhausted and the Princess Rhaenys expects me to attend to her early.”

Tyrion didn’t seem displeased.

He grinned and waved his hand at Jon.

“More fun for me,” Tyrion declared. “But do not complain to me when you are finding yourself bleeding out on the battlefield without having had a last fuck!”

Jon felt the urge to tell Tyrion how wrong he was, but he had no time to waste, for Cersei Lannister was expecting him.

This time, she was wearing a dress of gold and red and her hair was braided atop her head with a silver hairnet.

Her crimson lips curled upwards when she noticed his presence and she was quick to fumble with the bindings of his breeches. Jon’s only relief was that she was at least not kissing him. Instead she used her hands to rouse his cock to life, a task she never failed at, despite Jon’s disgust towards this woman.

Truly, it was a contradiction in itself, that his flesh demanded for this woman’s body, but inside his heart he only felt discomfort whenever she touched him.

“Oh, you have a sweet cock!” she gasped, as she rocked atop him. “What a sweet cock you have!”

Jon simply clenched his teeth and allowed his body to take over.

It was not hard, for Cersei Lannister was skilled. He had to give her that and she seemed to enjoy that he was not making any demands of his own.

“Now tell me,” she prodded after she had climbed off him and had pulled on a red robe. ”Have you anything for me?”

Jon sat up and pulled the bedding up his chest, his gaze meeting Cersei’s.

“Forgive me, your Grace, but it would help me greatly if you told me exactly what you would want to know.”

Cersei clucked her tongue and shook her head, her golden hair fluttering around her face like molten gold.

“You are a brazen boy,” she said and touched his cheek. “You remind me my brother, but sometimes you do remind me of Eddard Stark.”

“I am who I am,” Jon replied politely, though he felt the urge to slap her hand away. It disgusted him to be compared to the Kingslayer, her own brother. “And you have yet to answer my question. I cannot give you what you seek without a proper answer.”

“What I want most of all is my sweet brother’s weakness,” Cersei whispered and dropped her hand back to his breeches. She grinned at him, as she pulled out his cock once more. “I want to know who his new favorite whore is.”

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but his words died away when Cersei lowered her mouth unto his cock and started to suck him.

Jon drew blood from his lips when she finished him off.

“Now tell me,” she demanded and brushed her hand over her crimson lips. “Do you know anything about my brother’s new favorite?”

Jon believed to know the answer to that question, but he liked Tyrion far too much to sell him out like this. Yet, he also had to give Cersei something, even if it was only half the truth.

“The Lord Hand invited me today…he has indeed a great liking for a particular whore. She has golden-hair and green eyes and she works in Chataya’s brothel. I think her name was Ymma. She is keeping him company tonight with another girl he barely looked at,” Jon explained and was glad that he was finally allowed to dress himself. “You only have to make the right requirements.”

Cersei’s smile was as bright as a star, as she touched his cheek once more.

“I will soon know if is true what you told me,” she said and Jon couldn’t help but to notice the threat in her voice. ”Well, you must go now. I have my duties to attend to.”

Jon didn’t want to know about these duties and left her without much hesitation, though he took his time while walking back to his chambers.

He felt incredibly dirty and felt the urge to jump in the Blackwater, but there was no chance he would be allowed to leave the Red Keep without Tyrion’s approval. Truly, he couldn’t even see Arya without anyone’s permission. He was completely useless or at least that was how he felt. Worse was that he couldn’t even go to the bathhouse at such a late hour. All he could do was wash himself with tepid water and endure the Hound’s grumbling or worse watch him hump one of his whores.

Truly, walking through the darkness was far more tempting than hat.

But when a certain someone, namely Lord Varys, suddenly appeared in front of him, Jon decided that this day could not get any worse.

“You are out rather late?” the man asked him. He was dressed in flowing robes of silk and his bald head reminded Jon of the moon. “May I be of service to you, Ser Jon?”

Jon tried his best to hide his discomfort and shook his head.

“I don’t think so, but I know the way.” he said and stepped forward, but Lord Varys blocked his path.

Lord Varys chuckled.

“You have your father’s stubborn character, good Ser. I tried to help him, but sadly my efforts were in vain. However, I might be able to help you, your sister and Princess Rhaenys.”

Jon froze.

“I do not know…;” he began, but Lord Varys’ knowing smile silenced him at once.

“Oh, I think you do and I happen to know as well what you are trying to do. You are lucky that most people here are occupied preparing for the battle against Stannis to notice your sneaking around. Well, I fear you won’t have much success anyway…that is without my help.”

Jon didn’t trust the man any more than anyone else in this city, but it couldn’t be denied that he had him by the balls.

“Why should I trust you?” he asked diplomatically.

“Because we can be of use to each other,” Lord Varys answered and stepped closer. Jon could smell the lavender incense on his clothing. It made Jon wrinkle his nose. ”And because you, your sister and the Princess will die if you remain here.”

“Stannis wouldn’t kill me,” Jon countered skeptically. “Nor would he kill Arya and Princess Rhaenys.”

“I am not speaking of Stannis,” Lord Varys replied. “I am speaking of the Lannisters. If Stannis takes this city all of you will perish with them and if Tywin returns and Aegon Targaryen stakes his claim he is going to send Princess Rhaenys’ pretty head as a welcome gift to him. He might do the same with your sister our yourself if your brother continues to fight against him. Tywin Lannister is not a man to be trifled with and not even Lord Tyrion would be able to protect you from him.”

What he said was true, but Jon needed more.

“How can I trust you?” he asked. “Give me something more than that and I might consider your offer.”

He had already turned around when Lord Varys called after him.

Jon turned back around when he felt the man’s presence beside him, the heavy smell of lavender hovering over him like a cloud.

“If that is the case….I have this for you, good Ser. It was me who carried Aegon Targaryen away from Princess Elia’s arms to bring him to safety…”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed to take a shower after writing this lol  
Good thing though, the whole Cersei x Jon thing will be over soon and I will write a proper Rhae x Jon thing.  
Hopefully that will help me to wash away the dirt.


	32. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

It was barely an hour beyond dawn when Jon came to see her. He looked exhausted as ever, his long face pale and dark cringes underlining his eyes. It made her wonder what else he was doing after he attended to her every day, but she also didn’t want to know the details, because she feared that the plotting of the young knight could be traced back to her.

Even so, deep in her heart, she hoped that it was true. That he had really found a way out of this cursed city. It was a wonderful dream, but just a dream. Rhaenys was beyond such childish illusions.

“You are early,” Rhaenys remarked from seat beside the window. “Most of the servants are not even up.”

“I know,” Jon answered and brushed his untidy hair out of his face. He smiled sadly. “I couldn’t sleep and we need to speak…before your ladies come here to attend to you.”

Rhaenys crossed her arms in front of her. “Speak then.”

“Not here,” Jon said and offered his arm to her. “Let us take a walk in the godswood.”

Rhaenys didn’t refuse, but the tension inside only continued to grow, as they walked all the way to the godswood. Nobody came their way, but then it was not uncommon for Rhaenys to be seen in company of Jon. They had made it a habit to go to the godswood on a regular basis.

Still, fear was rising up inside her whenever someone passed by. Varys had little birds very where and the only place she really felt safe was her chamber.

“It is cold today,” Rhaenys said, as they entered the godswood. A cold breeze had just washed over them, making the trees sway like a pair dancing to a song. The wind’s song was soft and soothing to her ears. The tight grip of Jon on her arm was even more soothing, especially against the cold. The thought had come all too suddenly, like the striking of thunder, but she banished these feelings away, as quickly as they had appeared. It was far too dangerous. “A good thing. It means nobody will come here.”

“Hardly anyone ever comes here,” Jon pointed out and stopped in front of the large oak tree. The smell of flowers touched her nose and gave her the urge to sneeze. She suppressed her urge and gave Jon an expectant look. “Which is why I brought you here. I think I know a way to get out of the city, but I cannot do anything without your approval.”

Rhaenys’ felt almost betrayed by the way her heartbeat sped up. She knew better than to allow him into her heart.

“You are sure?” Rhaenys asked and leaned closer. She had whispered and now she was looking around, to make sure that nobody was there. “How?”

“Someone is willing to help us,” Jon said and leaned closer, his breath brushing her lips. His dark eyes sparkled like two twin stars, as he looked back at her. “Someone close to the King. I know you are not going to like it, but that is why I am telling you about it beforehand.”

She disliked the idea of depending someone, but she trusted Jon enough to know that he wouldn’t endanger her unnecessarily.

“Who could it be?”

Jon’s held tightly unto her arm, as he gave his answer, an answer that shook her very innermost being.

“You know him,” Jon said at last and let go of her hand, as if he expected her to need some space. “Lord Varys.”

And he was completely right. She needed space. The moment he had given the name, she had turned around and had walked to the nut tree on the other side. Only in that moment, did she realized that her skirt was now ruined by mud and that her breathing was coming in quick succession.

It was Jon’s voice that called her back to the present.

“You don’t like it.”

“I don’t like it,” she confirmed and turned around. Jon was standing barely a handful of paces away from her and she was slightly bothered by his close proximity. Not that she disliked it, but her mind was full of confusion regarding Lord Varys. “I do not trust Lord Varys. He served first my mad Grandfather and then King Robert.”

“I know,” Jon replied and shook his head, his dark hair fluttering around his face like the wings of a raven. “I don’t trust him, but I do think he wants to help us out of this city to serve his own agenda. In that sense, I trust him. I am also giving you a chance to decide how you want to proceed from here. It is up to you to decide if you want to trust him.”

Rhaenys didn’t know what to say. She felt torn between the fact that he was providing her with a way out of this damned city and the fact that he was willing to give her a choice in the matter. He could have easily lied to her, but hadn’t done. That thought caused even more strange feelings to rise up inside her.

“I don’t know what will happen,” Jon said and broke the silence, his dark eyes searching hers once more. He even took her hand and squeezed it gently. Her heart skipped a beat in that moment. “But I fear if we will die if we stay here longer. I am going to take the risk for Arya’s sake, but I cannot force…,” he was about to continue, but Rhaenys cut him off.

“You are right,” she said at last, after her fast heartbeat had finally calmed down. “It might be the only chance for us…I am willing to take the risk. Better to die fleeing than by Illyn Payne’s blade.”

Jon’s pale lips twitched upwards and he dropped his hand. Rhaenys felt the urge to take it again. The prospect of fleeing scared and excited her at the same time.

“You said it. It is better to die trying.”

“Good,” Rhaenys confirmed and bit her lips. “And now tell me how Lord Varys intends for us to leave this city…We don’t have much time.”

Jon smiled and leaned closer, as he whispered Lord Varys’ plans into her ears. He gave her the barest of details that Lord Varys had allowed to give her, but it didn’t assure her in any sense. The plan made sense, but the man who was offering to help her was still the enemy. And to depend on another person made it all the harder for her to accept these circumstances.

“You should eat,” Rhaenys said later after the servant girls had brought her breakfast. It was a simple meal of oats and milk, as even the noblemen in the city were now living on rations. Only yesterday, the gold cloaks had suppressed another uprising. Rhaenys had been able to hear it from far away, the cries of the people and the sound of tapping spears hitting the ground. The snapping of the arrows had been the worst and she hadn’t been able to sleep throughout the entire night, for it had brought back too many dark memories from her childhood. And what Jon had told her today, had also taken away her appetite. “You look starved.”

“I didn’t sleep all too much,” Jon explained and eyed he food greedily. “And I didn’t get any supper either. No rations for those who come late.”

“What were you doing?” Rhaenys asked and watched, as he picked up the spoon. He ate slowly while Rhaenys picked up her cup of milk. “How did you even meet our friend?”

“Lord Tyrion took me to a brothel,” he admitted and dropped his spoon. His pale cheeks were slightly flushed, though Rhaenys’ couldn’t understand why. “I couldn’t refuse.”

“Of course not,” Rhaenys replied and placed the empty cup back on the table. Then, she crossed her arms over the table and leaned forward to place her chin upon it. In the presence of others, she would have never dared to do something so unseemly, but Jon had never remarked up on it and thus she had gotten comfortable in his presence to do it. “He is the Lord Hand. It would be foolish of you to refuse him.”

Jon said nothing and simply shoved another spoon of porridge into his mouth. Rhaenys wasn’t sure, but he looked, as if he was disappointed by her answer.

“So, you spent the night with one of these poor girls?” she asked, trying to hide her dislike for the idea. Jon was a bastard, but he was comely enough. He should be able to find a proper girl. “Was she at least pretty?”

“Not really,” Jon replied and averted his gaze. “I left early…after supper I mean. Then, I met our friend.”

Rhaenys nodded her head. ”Even so, you look as if you haven’t slept in days.”

“I worry about Arya,” Jon admitted at last. “I haven’t seen her in two weeks. The Queen Mother said she was acting up again after Sansa had been taken away. I think the Queen Mother is withholding her from me intentionally and Tyrion is not willing to do anything to help me either.”

“He doesn’t trust you,” Rhaenys said. “Well, if our friend’s plan works your sister will be far away from Cersei when Stannis comes for us. Still…,” she began, but Jon cut her off, by putting his finger to his lips.

Rhaenys sighed deeply and nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Still, I do not understand how you will avoid being called to arms?”

Jon’s dark eyes widened in realization. He looked like a boy that had been caught doing something wrong.

“I know a way,” Jon said suddenly and pushed the empty bowl aside. He uncomfortable. ”A very unpleasant way, but if all goes well, we only have to endure another week in this cursed city.”

Rhaenys leaned back in her chair and folded her arms in front of her, as her gaze darted to the open window.

A beautiful blue sky greeted her there and a handful of crows were flying circles over the Blackwater.

Would she be allowed to join them one day?

She could only hope.

…


	33. Aegon

**Aegon**

Qarth looked like many a city in the Free Cities, but Aegon could feel that something was different about this place. Its people were strange, eying their small party, both with distrust and interest. Jon Connington was even more wary and had Ser Rolly Duckfield watch him at every turn. It was one of the few things that Ser Barristan and he agreed on. The old man also hardly spoke, but his hand was always resting on the pommel of his blade, always watchful.

“The heat here is even worse than in Volantis,” Aegon remarked to Ser Rolly Duckfield, as they watched the bustling crowd shuffle down the main street, a broad road that was flanked by high red walls. Guards could be found here, bearing shining shields and sharp spears that glinted like diamonds in the dying sunlight. “I never thought it possible.”

“This spicy tea doesn’t help,” Jon Connington added and frowned at his cup. He was right. The tea was made out of a steaming substance that changed the water to a reddish color and made his tongue burn with a sweet taste. “And that we still do not know where we have to search. I think it was a mistake to come here, your Grace.”

“Perhaps,” Aegon said and pushed his tea away. His tongue felt, as if he had dipped it into a hot brazier. “But it is the only hint we have. We ought to find a tavern and start our search on the morrow. Rolly will have the men question everyone about warlocks. Most here speak Bastard Valyrian. It should be no problem.”

“They speak a rather strange dialect,” Rolly complained, though an amused smile was playing on his lips. “But we shall try our best, your Grace.”

Then, he turned to Ser Barristan Selmy. “What do you say, old man?”

Ser Barristan smiled. “We shall do all we can. I owe it to Queen Rhaella.”

“That is all I ask,” Aegon said and smiled at the old knight. “And I shall try my best to not get myself into danger so you do not have to worry about me.”

“That is good to hear, your Grace,” Jon Connington added and frowned again. “But we shall hurry to find a place. I do not trust this city.”

By nightfall, they had found a tavern, not far from the center of the city, a large plaza made of white shining stone and covered with gilded statures that Aegon assumed were showing the founders of the city.

Aegon had admired them for a while after he had left his chamber to catch fresh air from the wooden balcony that provided the visitors of the _Green Elephant_ with visitors. He had wanted to go down, but Jon Connington had forced him to stay in his room.

Yet the waiting didn’t prove boring at all, for by night the plaza was filled with a bustling crowd of all colors. Aegon didn’t know what was going on, but by his impression it was some sort of circus or fair that was happening beneath his balcony.

He could see acrobats performing impressive movements. Some walked on their hands and others whirled through the air. He also saw puppet players, soothsayers, peddlers, exotic-looking whores, but he was most all surprised by the men walking on wooden sticks, reaching nearly up to his balcony, as they passed by. Aegon found it so impressive that he handed each man a coin.

Still, the noise made it hard to find sleep that night, though Aegon believed there was another reason. Truth be told, he hadn’t slept in weeks since he had left Volantis to find Daenerys based on the word of this strange woman. Qaithe was her name.

_Perhaps she was lying to me_, he wondered and turned around to touch his sword leaning close by his bedding. _Perhaps this is all a trap._

He didn’t feel safe anymore since he had left his pole-boat in Volantis, even though Ser Rolly and his men had long returned from their search. To Aegon’s disappointment, they had found nothing, but then Qaithe had told him that Daenerys had been kidnapped and he doubted these warlocks, as she had called them, would be stupid enough to make their plans known.

_I shall join Rolly on the morrow_, Aegon thought and turned around. He felt exhausted and somewhere in the middle of his bout of brooding he slipped off into sleep.

He knew at once that it was a dream, when he saw Qaithe again. As before she wore crimson robes and her shiny black mask. Her eyes pierced into his, as she drew closer, almost floating over the ground.

“You brought me here,” Aegon said and stepped closer, trying to touch her, but she dissolved into nothingness. “Where is Daenerys?

“I have already told you,” she whispered and when Aegon turned around her found her standing behind him. “He is with the warlocks…I shall lead you there, my Prince. Come to the Plaza of Joys.”

With these words she had left him.

When Aegon woke, he was blinded by the bright sunlight falling through the painted windows. That they were bright red only added to the pain, but he was not afforded much peace, for Ser Rolly came bursting into his chamber a moment later.

“Are you well, your Grace?”

He asked and Aegon, who had long sat up, shrugged his shoulders.

“What makes you think I am not?”

“You were talking to someone in your sleep?”

“I am well,” Aegon replied and dressed himself quickly before climbing down the steps to find Lord Connington seated at a table and being served breakfast. Ser Barristan was also there, but he kept his distance, watching the door.

“You are already up, your Grace,” Lord Connington remarked. “I hope you slept well…,” he began, but Aegon cut him off.

“We must go to the Plaza of Joy,” he said and shook his head. “Do you know where that is?”

“That is not far,” Ser Barristan replied with a frown. ”It is an unseemly place for someone like you.”

“It’s a street full of brothels,” Ser Rolly added and chuckled lightly. ”Do you think the warlocks sold…,” he began, but Aegon had silenced him with a shake of his head.

“No,” he said, fastened his cloak and then his sword. “It is where we will find help.”

“Your Grace,” Lord Connington was about to protest, but Aegon wanted to hear none of it.

“We shall go now,” Aegon replied and a moment later he was out of the door.

It was boiling as always and a heartbeat later he was walking along the Street of Joys.

It was a broads road, lined by dirty houses that were filled with pretty whore. Some stood in front of the doors, trying to entice customers with sweet words and others sat on the balconies, their feathered heads glimmering in the bright sunlight like jewels.

Aegon ignored their tittering laughter, his gaze searching the plaza for a sign of Qaithe.

“I am here,” a familiar voice made him stop in his tracks and turn around. “I have been waiting for you, Prince Aegon.”

Aegon sighed in relief when he saw the strange woman again that had warned him in Volantis. Today she wore bright blue robes and her mask was made of a shining pale material, almost like the polished bones of a dead animal.

“Where is Daenerys?” he asked at once.

“You will find her at the House of the Undying,” Qaithe explained and looked over to Lord Connington who frowned at the woman from the distance.

Ser Rolly was quick to confirm her words.

“There is such a place…a very strange place indeed.”

“How so?” Ser Barristan inquired.

“They told me it belongs to the dead.”

“Which is why you have need of my help,” Qaithe explained. “No common man or woman will be allowed to enter, but if I vouch for you, you shall be permitted entrance.”

Aegon nodded his head. He was surprised that he felt no hesitation to agree to this madness.

“And then I can save Daenerys?”

“Perhaps,” Qaithe replied. “But it won’t be easy. They will try to trick you with magic and other illusions. You might even die.”

“Your Grace!” Lord Connington protested, but Aegon waved his hand to silence him.

“Spare me your warnings, my Lord Hand! I know this is utter madness, but perhaps it is in my blood!”

“Your ancestors blood is strong,” Qaithe explained. “It will make it easier for our cause.”

“I hope so much for you, woman,” Lord Connington grumbled. “Or you will find a painful death.”

“Lord Hand,” Aegon warned and turned back to Qaithe. “Let us go before it is too late.”

Qaithe lowered her head in reverence.

“The hour is late indeed, but we should make it just in time.”

…


	34. Jon

**Jon**

The ballroom was filled with the whispering of the ladies and the constant flickering of the torches gave this place an almost gloomy atmosphere. Ser Illyn Payne’s presence did not help to ease Jon’s strained nerves in the least. The King’s executioner was an ugly man with pale eyes that reminded him of the Lord of the Dreadfort, a man even more unpleasant than this one.

_This man is already half-dead_, Jon mused, for whenever he looked at the man he carried the same grim expression.

Even so, Jon believed that he could kill the man if need be. Being an executioner did not necessarily make one a good swordsman, but as with everything in the world there needed to be the right opportunity. Today was such a day for all eyes were directed elsewhere, but not on Ser Jon, Lord Tyrion’s bastard knight. Jon had had the same idea in mind when he was planning their escape, but the current plan was all of Lord Varys’ making. It had all started with Arya, whom Lord Varys had provided with berries that caused stomach aches and rash. The Grand Maester had not even dared to touch his little sister in fear of infection and had advised Cersei to keep her locked up in her chambers. Lord Varys had promised to free her while Jon’s task was to get Princess Rhaenys away from Cersei’s watchful eyes, a task much easier said than done.

That Ser Illyn Payne was not alone, made it only worse. There were still the Kettleback brothers.

Jon had felt shame when he had asked Cersei to make sure he was kept away from battle. That he had to shame himself by whoring himself out to that woman was even worse. The cup of wine in his hand certainly helped.

One of the Kettleback brothers, a certain Ser Osfrey, had also joined them recently and was now kneeling before the Queen, his voice soft and weak. His face did not look good, his cheek covered with scabs.

It was nothing new what he told Cersei. The battle was brewing, the fleets were engaging each other and a handful of fools were looting the city.

Cersei’s frown told him that she did not want to hear about this either.

“What about my son?” she asked instead.

“The King went to the Sept of Baelor to receive the High Septons blessings and now he is walking the walls with the Hand, telling the men to be brave.”

Cersei frowned again and demanded another cup of wine from her page boy. The ladies watched her closely, especially Rhaenys who was dressed as if she was about to attend a funeral. All in black.

Jon felt for her, but there was no time for words of comfort. They needed to play this well or all would be lost.

Not long after, the page brought golden vintage from the Arbor. It was Cersei’s tenth cup, but then Jon had never known her to be any different.

Yet, it did not seem to dim her beauty any bit. Aye, Cersei Lannister was as beautiful as she was rotten. It made Jon despise her even more.

That all of this felt more like a fair made the whole situation even stranger. Cersei had asked the musicians to play up their songs and the fool Moon Boy was going about the hall in stilts. Even the bumbling knight, Ser Dontos, whom Sansa had protected from Joffrey’s rage was there. He was now chasing giggling serving girls on a horse broomstick.

It was utterly ridiculous, but it was all real.

The audience even laughed, but Jon could see that it was empty laughter. They were all afraid of Stannis and his Red Witch. Jon was not afraid of Stannis, but of what Cersei would do with the ladies if he managed to break the gates.

_She would command to kill them all_, he knew. _That is why lllyn Payne is here and why I must get Rhaenys away. But how?_

Jon watched as Cersei drank deeply and watched as others stared emptily at their supper. Well, Lord Gyles was coughing so much he could hardly eat while Lollys Stokeworth sat shivering in the corner. When she started to weep Cersei told the Grand Maester to put her to sleep with a cup of dream sleep.

“Tears,” Cersei repeated to Rhaenys, who sat across the table. “It’s a woman’s weapon, as my mother used to call it while a sword is a man’s weapon. That tells you all you need to know.”

Cersei had smiled then, as if she was amused about her own jest, but Rhaenys didn’t return the gesture. She simply frowned, her lips a thin line and her dark brows furrowed with annoyance.

“Well, I doubt my mother’s tears were much of use to her when the Mountain came for her,” Rhaenys replied and brought the cup to her lips.

Jon did not believe his ears and neither did Cersei, who had spilled her cup over her green robe.

She shouted at the page boy to bring her a new cup and then she narrowed her green eyes at Rhaenys.

“If you weren’t useful for us I would cut out your loose tongue for these words,” Cersei threatened, but Rhaenys’ expression remained as cold as ever. It seemed she had abandoned all pretense. “Stop spreading such lies about my father’s bannerman. We all know the truth: your mother killed herself and your brother rather than to fall into the hands of the enemy. A woman’s only choice to keep her honor.”

Jon watched Rhaenys’ reaction closely, but apart from a deep exhalation she seemed unaffected. She was angry though, so much he could see in her dark eyes, which held a purple glimmer in them whenever the flickering torchlight fell upon them.

“My brother is not dead,” Rhaenys replied icily and folded her hands in her lap. “At least that is what the rumors say and neither did my mother kill herself. I remember very well what happened that night, your Grace. I was only a little girl, but I remember how your father’s men came for us, not any less gruesome than animals. On your father’s command, I am sure, but then what could you expect from a man like Tywin Lannister? Well, your brother prevented my death. I owe him from that.”

Jon clenched his fist in disbelief.

_What the fuck are you doing, Rhaenys?_

But Rhaenys ignored him and continued to stir Cersei’s rage.

“Did Ser Jaime tell you how he killed Ser Amory Loch?” she asked and smiled. “I heard men like to boast about their kills in their lover’s bed. I admit…Ser Jaime is handsome…,” she was about to continue, but Cersei had slammed her hand on the table to silence Rhaenys.

“You dare to accuse me?” she asked and leaned over the table, to grab Rhaenys’ hand, who stared back at Cersei with an expression of defiance. “Be careful what you say, girl. The only reason you are still alive is that Dorne would start a war against us if something bad happened to you, but that doesn’t mean I cannot make your life hell on earth.”

Rhaenys simply smiled, as she leaned forward.

“And if I am lucky you none of these threats will ever come true and you and your rotten son’s head will soon rest on the ramparts of the Red Keep. I may die or not, but that thought alone would satisfy me enough to die for it, your Grace.”

Cersei’s mouth had dropped open and her grip had only tightened on Rhaenys’ arm.

Then, she let go and sat back in hair chair, shaking her head in disbelief. She looked as if Rhaenys had slapped her.

“You are a disgraceful little girl!” she snapped. “And I have heard enough of your slander. I also need to change in something fresh.”

Then, she looked up at Jon and smiled. “Will you show me the way back to my chambers, my boy?”

_My boy_, Jon thought and felt disgust rising up inside him. _At least use my title, woman._

“Of course,” he replied and offered his arm to the Queen. “It would be my honor.”

He took one last glance at Rhaenys, as he left the hall and was surprised to find her smiling.

Jon did not know what to make of that and followed after Cersei.

This time she even allowed him into her real chambers, a seldom thing. It was a large room with high marbled walls and a large bed that was made for a King. She seemed also much more at ease than usual and undressed without hesitation before she started to search through her good dozen of gowns for a fresh one. She chose a crimson one that had snarling lions embroidered above her breast. Then, she had Jon fix the bindings, as she had no lady at hand.

Jon had even offered to get one, but she had refused.

“I have no need of these weeping girls. I need a last fuck before I die.”

Jon could imagine no worse death and shame than to be found in Cersei’s bed. He also needed to leave, desperately so.

“I think you ought to rest, your Grace,” Jon replied and put some distance between them. He had shared her bed a good dozen of times, but every time he had felt more disgust. He was done playing this game. “You are clearly not well. I think the wine…,” he began, but Cersei shook her head in displeasure.

“I can hold more wine than my brother,” she said and took his hand before leading him into an anteroom. It was some sort of private solar and there she stopped, turning back to him, a crimson smile playing on her lips. “I haven’t showed you yet, have I?”

Jon was confused by her reply.

“What do you mean, your Grace?”

“The harvest of your efforts,” she tittered and led him closer to the table, placed along the all. There lay something, covered with a brown cloth. It was bloody and it smelled sweetly. “Ser Osmund brought me the whore’s head just this morn…my brother’s favorite whore.”

And as she had said this, she had pulled off the cloth, revealing the rotting head of the girl Tyrion had bought for him.

Jon said nothing, his tongue frozen as he stared back at Cersei.

She smiled gleefully, as if Jon had gifted her the finest silk-dress.

“Why are you silent?” she asked and touched his cheek. Her hands were as cold as her heart. “I mean you have earned my trust. A great honor. And now you will receive an even greater honor…the honor to share my bed.”

Jon finally managed to open his mouth again. Anger was burning low in his stomach, as he stared once more at the girl’s rotting head.

“She didn’t do anything wrong…,” was all Jon managed to reply. He was trembling now, but not out of fear, but sheer disgust.

Cersei simply giggled as if it meant nothing to her and slipped her hand into his breeches.

“She was just a whore.”

Cersei’s words hit him like thunder.

Without thinking and spurred on by a burst of rage he wrapped his hands around her neck.

He heard her gasp of surprise, but it was no use. Jon tightened his grip around her neck and pushed her against the wall, feeling her nails scratch his face, as she continued to struggle against him.

He felt no pain, as he watched her face turn blue and heard her muted words of protest. He did not even hear the beating of his own heart until Cersei moved no more and only her empty green were staring back at him.

Then, he let go of her and quickly rose back to his feet, fumbling with his belt, as he closed the door behind him.

Only then, it dawned on him what he had done, his mind a storm of confusion.

_I need to leave_, was all he could think and rushed back towards the door. _I need to find Arya and Rhaenys and leave._

Along the corridor he saw the page boy coming his way. He was carrying a fresh cup, but Jon stopped him along the way.

“The Queen mother is asleep,” he told the boy and pointed at his face. “Bother her or she will do what she did to me.”

The boy gave him a fearful look and was about to leave, but Jon stopped him.

“Tell me, is the battle still going?”

“Aye,” the boy said, his blue eyes wide. “They say the Blackwater is awash with wildfire. They say a hundred ships are burning.”

Jon could not believe his ears and patted the boy’s shoulder.

“And Princess Rhaenys? Have you seen her?”

The boy nodded his head.

“She retired to her chamber. Ser Osney accompanied her.”

Jon sighed in relief and left the boy standing there.

Ser Osney he could handle if need be, but that turned out to be unnecessary.

For when he entered Rhaenys chambers he found the man dead and facing the ground. His breeches were low around his ankles and his clothing splattered with blood. It was a wound around the neck that had caused his death.

When he saw the bloody knife in Rhaenys hand he knew what had happened.

“Did he try to rape you?” he asked her, his voice strained and distant to his ears. He was still affected by what had happened in the Queen’s chamber. “Are you well?”

Rhaenys cleaned the knife with a cloth and fastened her dark cloak.

Then, she smiled and stepped closer to touch his cheek. Her hands felt warm and comforting.

“No, I offered myself and he was eager enough. Well, he got not more than a kiss. The Kettleback brothers were always far too lusty for their own good,” she said and dropped her hand to touch his arm. “I see Cersei gave you an unpleasant punishment. Or is that some game she plays with everyone she takes into her bed?”

Jon was shocked to hear her words. “You know?”

She frowned at that. “I know you didn’t do it willingly. Now come. Your sister must be waiting for us if Lord Varys didn’t lie about his true intentions.”

Jon nodded his head and took her arm to lead her out unto the corridor. They walked slowly, being mind of every step, but met only a handful of servant girls chasing about the corridor.

Rhaenys held close unto his arm, as they chased down a pair of steps and reached the courtyard outside. The rest of the way was easy enough, but the sounds of battle and eerie green flames lightening the night sky made Jon’s heartbeat go faster.

Even what he had done, was no longer on his mind.

“You know the way?” Rhaenys asked him once more.

“Aye,” Jon confirmed and led the way to the secret tunnel Arya had described to him and Lord Varys had shown him only a handful of days ago. He had been surprised when Jon had told him that he was aware of its existence.

“These tunnels were built by Maegor the Cruel,” Jon explained, as led Rhaenys along the dark corridor. He had no torch, but it was better that way. “That is at least what Lord Varys told me.”

“One good thing that Maegor did,” Rhaenys replied tensely, her grip tightening on his shoulder, as they stumbled down a pair of steps. “Well, I wouldn’t mind if he came back and burned this entire castle to cinder.”

Jon held her tightly and then he stopped, brushing his free hand along the wall to find the door.

“Here,” he said and pushed hard. The door opened with a creaking sound and then he felt the touch of cool air on his scratched cheeks. “We are nearly there.”

Rhaenys said nothing, as they bridged the rest of the way, all the way down to the sewers.

The smell was unpleasant, but was soon chased away by the smell of another kind.

Lord Varys flowery perfume was the first thing that reached Jon’s nose and Arya’s exclamation of joy was the next.

“It pleases me to see you well, Princess Rhaenys,” Lord Varys said and lowered his head at Rhaenys. He carried a latern that cast the chamber in yellow light. “I am sure your brother, King Aegon, will be pleased to know this.”

“My brother?” Rhaenys asked in utter disbelief. “What would you know about my brother?”

“Only that he is alive and well,” Lord Varys replied secretly, as he jerked his head at Arya, who was clinging unto Jon’s other arm. She looked so different. Her hair was short and she is wearing the clothing of a servant boy. “But we don’t have much time to speak. You must leave at once. He has a small mummer’s troupe of people travelling the lands. He can smuggle all three of you out of this city once the battle is done.”

“And where will we go?” Jon asked. “You have yet to answer that question?”

“To the Riverlands,” Lord Varys informed them. “To Riverrun would be best. I am sure your brother will be pleased to receive you there.”

Jon was not sure about that, but he knew that Arya would be welcome, and that Robb would not mistreat Rhaenys. Perhaps he could even send her home to Dorne.

“Why?” Rhaenys asked then, interrupting their conversation. “Why are you helping us?”

Lord Varys simply smiled. “Ser Jon can tell you all about it, but now you must leave.”

Rhaenys accepted this answer for what it was, but when she let go of Jon’s arm he knew she was displeased.

Her voice was filled with disgust.

“As you wish, Lord Varys, but do not think that I hate you any less for the past. I have not forgotten how you were whispering in my mad grandfather’s ears.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone cares to know: The Last Kingdom (based on the book series by Bernhard Cornwell) gets a 4th season that airs on 26 of April on Netflix. It is an enjoyable show. I liked it better than Vikings, which is also a good show until season 4. They are also adapting the Warlord Chronicles also by Bernhard Cornwell...at least that is a rumour. Not sure if it is true.


	35. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Dany was woken by soft laughter. A gentle nudge followed and when she opened her eyes, she was no longer in Volantis, but in a completely different place.

When she looked around, she found herself surrounded by ladies in beautiful gowns and glimmering hairnets. They all looked like they belonged in Viserys’ tales about knights and princesses, his tales from home.

“Your Grace?” a sweet voice asked and caused her to turn her head. It was a tall and dark-haired woman garbed in robes of yellow and red silks. Atop her head she wore a simple golden circlet. “Are you well?”

Dany was even more confused that this lady had addressed her so formally. What had happened? Had she jumped through time and was she finally home?

It at least seemed so, as she looked around once more and realized that she was seated beneath a colourful baldachin that was placed slightly above a hill, overseeing a long streak of red earth, where two knights were taking position at the each side of the field.

“Look!” another lady exclaimed. Well, it was not really a lady. She looked more like a young girl and was probably around Dany’s age. She was also short in stature and had a long face, framed by dark brown hair that fell all the way to her waist. Her clothing looked also different from the garb of the other ladies. She wore a blue robe fastened with a leather belt and a beautiful silver-buckle fashioned in the form of a wolf. And around her neck she wore a furred white cloak fastened with another silver wolf. Her smile was even sweeter. “Ser Bonifer is riding!”

The girl had stood up from her seat and was now leaning against the balustrade, an amused smile playing on her lips.

“Be careful, my lady Stark,” warned another lady, an older lady in robes of red and yellow. She seemed deeply amused by the girl’s antics. “Or you might drop unto the tiltyard.”

“I have been climbing the highest towers of Winterfell and I have been racing the fastest horses since I was a young girl! I fear nothing my dear Princess Myriah Martell!”

Dany had frozen at the mention of the girl’s name and looked over to the tiltyard. She had also risen to her feet and stumbled towards the balustrade to get a better look. The knight, Ser Bonifer Hasty, had easily unhorsed his enemy and left a cloud of red dust rising behind him.

“I apologize,” the girl answered quickly and moved aside to make space for Dany. “I didn’t intend to block your view!”

Dany was both fascinated and mistrustful. Her brother had always called the Starks the usurper dogs, but beyond that she did not recall how many Starks there were left, especially no female ones.

“No need,” she told the girl with a wave of her hand. “My lady…?”

The girl chuckled and shook her head. “Lady Lyarra…Stark. I am not surprised you have already forgotten my name, your Grace. I have just arrived a day ago.”

Dany smiled, but when she looked back at the other ladies, she still had no idea where or who she was?

“Ser Bonifer is a very capable rider indeed,” another girl complimented. She had a heart-shaped face and golden-brown hair that fell in ringlets down her face. In her hair Dany noticed a golden rose. “He might even win your wedding tourney, your Grace!”

“Don’t say such nonsense, my Lady Alerie,” Princess Myriah Martell chided the girl. “It would be inappropriate for him to crown Princess Rhaella. Once was enough.”

Dany’s heart had nearly jumped out of her chest when she had heard this, the girls and the sound of the clopping hors hooves fading away, as she opened her mouth to speak.

Yet, no words left her lips, as she stretched out her hand to touch the Lady Lyarra, who was still waving and smiling at the knights.

The next time Dany found herself in a dimly lit chamber, the first rays of sunlight reaching through the painted windows.

Dany shuddered when she realized that she was naked and pulled the bedding around her shoulders, as she looked at the man standing close to the window. He wore only breaches and for a moment she thought it was Viserys, but when he turned around, she realized that he was not her brother.

His hair was much shorter, and his eyes were lighter. Yet, the man shared his displeased expression.

“Are you not even looking at me, brother?” Dany heard herself ask.

The man sneered at her and had bridged the distance within the matter of a moment, his fingernails digging into her shoulders.

“And why would I, Rhaella?” he asked. “Looking at you reminds me that I have no choice. I am supposed to be King one day, yet I am commanded by my grandsire like a stud to mount his chosen mare…and all for a prophecy. Let’s hope this was enough to get you with child.”

“So, you are going by to your whores?” Dany heard herself ask. There was anger in her voice. “You disgust me, brother.”

The answer came in the form of a slap to her face.

The iron taste of blood in her mouth made her recoil from the man, who left her sitting there all alone.

Her father.

Dany opened her hand and noticed a stain of blood in her hand.

She knew now who she was. These memories belonged to her mother, Queen Rhaella.

That they were nothing like Viserys had told her did not surprise her, but how she had gotten here was another great mystery that needed to be solved.

And with the first tears spilling from her cheeks the world disappeared again, fading away like the morning mist.

This time, she found herself in an even more wonderful place. It was a beautiful hall made of marble walls and high windows. Above her stretched a colourful canopy of golden dragons, spreading their wings and throwing colourful flames across the walls.

The hall was also filled with many strangers, some dressed in black-and-red and others garbed in even more colourful garb than the flames of the dragons above her head.

It looked what a true court ought to be like. There were knights in polished armour, page boys with snarling red dragons on their back, beautiful ladies dressed in flowing robes and at last the King among them.

Yet, this King was not young like Dany had always imagined her brother Rhaegar. This King was old and frail, his hair long and grey. Only his shining crown and his long robes of black-and-red told her who he was.

_King Aegon the Unlikely_, she guessed by his appearance and searched the faces of the people close to him. There was a tall man with a sombre face and dark brown hair and a grey-haired lady at his arm. He too wore the three-headed dragon which gave her a hint who he was.

_Prince Duncan_, she guessed. _And his lady Jenny._

She only knew the tales, but Viserys had once sang the song to her when he was particularly drunk. Their brother Rhaegar had composed it or so her brother had told her.

To see the lady herself was like a dream come true.

Yet, none of these people were smiling. There was a certain amount of tension in the air, especially when the King’s sad eyes fell upon her across the room.

“Rhaella,” he said and smiled sadly. “Come here.”

“Yes, grandfather,” Dany heard herself say and touched her swollen belly. She even felt the kick of the babe and when she looked at the wooden pyre placed in the middle of the hall she heard herself gasp in surprise, though whether it was the sight of the pyre that had caused it or the sight of the eggs she couldn’t say. “I shall do as you wish if you would finally tell me what I am supposed to do?”

“You need to do nothing,” he said and waved his hand at the knights. “Just be at peace. It must be done…for the sake of our house…for the sake of our dynasty. For the return of the dragons.”

Dany felt herself shiver from head to toe, as the knight took her arm and pulled her towards the pyre.

It dawned on her in that moment.

“No!” she heard herself shout. “What are you doing to me?”

“What needs to be done,” she heard the old Kings’s reply, as he dropped his head into his hands. “What needs to be done.”

Dany was kicking and cursing at them, but it was no use. The knights proved much stronger and bound her to the pyre.

Next came men in dark robes, green light glimmering in the pots they were carrying. One, the leader, carried a torch with red flames.

He was smiling, as he crept closer and Dany could already feel the touch of the fire on her skin.

When the leader of the pyromancers had lightened the pyre beneath her feat, the door burst open with a booming sound.

What followed was chaos, for at least a dozen men had entered the hall shortly after, as if to interrupt the mummery that had nearly taken place.

The flames had crept nearly up to her legs when a tall man with a white cloak lifted his blade and freed her from her bindings. She felt the water pour down her legs, as he lifted her from the pyre and carried her outside, flames of green and red following them at every step.

Behind them the screams of the courtiers rang in her ears, as her body was being torn apart by the throes of birth.

She clung to the man’s shoulder and closed her eyes once more, hoping this time she would be allowed to return where she belonged.

“The dragon has three heads,” was the first thing she heard when she opened her eyes again. It was a sad voice, much like the old King who had tried to murder her lady mother. “The dragon has three heads and he is the promised prince that will bring the dawn. I have known its since I have visited the Island of Faces.”

As Dany turned around, she saw a young man seated beside the hearth. Next to him was a beautiful harp and when she looked at his face, she noticed a strong resemblance to the old King.

“Will you write him a song?” asked a young woman, who was seated in a great wooden bed. She shared a strong resemblance to Lady Lyarra, though her face was softer and her eyes darker in shade. The babe suckling at her naked breast confused Dany even more. The mewling babe looked much like the lady, yet her brother looked at the babe as if it belonged to him.

Her nodded his head and brushed his fingers over the silver strings of his harp. ”He already has a song. His is the song of ice and fire.”

It was the sweet notes of the song that carried her away from the lovely scene only to wake in a dark and dusty chamber.

She gasped when she noticed the flames beneath her feet, reaching for her clothing and her hair. It were mighty flames, not unlike those that had devoured Summerhall.

She could see nothing, only smoke and flames.

It was so very hot and when the flames reached her, she felt as if she was embraced by a mother’s touch.

All faded away. Her nightmares and her dreams. The past and the present…

She could hear the beating of her heart, as if she was holding it in her bare hands.

Then, she heard the first cracking sound.

Another one followed shortly after and at last a third one.

Then, she felt no more.

It took a long time before her mind returned to her and she realized that she was still alive.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, ashes and dust clinging to her body.

Her legs were trembling, as she noticed that something was snuggling close to her stomach.

It was the light of a torch that revealed the presence of the being that had touched her.

Dany could not believe her eyes when a pair of red eyes met hers. It belonged to a small black and scaled creature. A dragon.

He was not the only one. Two more dragons came climbing up her body. One was soon clinging to her shoulder and the other one was crawling up between her bleeding legs.

He gave a chirping sound and spread his green wings.

Yet, she was not granted much time to admire the dragons, for a good dozen of men had emerged from the shadows. Dany could not see their faces, but she knew they were there.

She could only see the face of the man that had captured her.

He was smiling.

“It is done.”

…


	36. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

The trees had changed their dress of green to colours of red, orange and brown. It was much colder now, the thin cloak of hers barely offering any protection against the sharp wind that came blowing from the east.

**S**eated atop the moving cart, Rheanys felt the cold creeping into her skin. It hadn’t been as bad when she had travelled North, but back then she also had the luxury of a wheelhouse.

The mummers troupe that had smuggled them out of King’s Landing had no such luxury. They had two carts stuffed with clothing and food, four horses and at last a packhorse.

Rhaenys was sharing the cart with two other girls. There was Melara, a freckled woman who took part in Cosco’s plays, the leader of the mummer’s. The other one was called Mimmy, a thin girl with blond hair. She was their acrobat and could easily walk on her two hands, juggle and make a jest at the same time, though there was also a fool. They called him _Lord Butterfly_, a small and stout man, who reminded Rhaenys of Lord Tyrion. At last came Cosco, the leader of the mummers, who was well-versed in a several tongues and played the harp better than most.

Neither Jon nor Arya sat in the cart. Jon was always walking behind it, sometimes talking to Cosco and at other times talking to Rhaenys, who had tried often enough to follow his example to walk beside the cart. At first, it had worked, but after a while she had started feeling exhausted and the others had gently urged her to sit down. How much they knew about her their identity was also in the dark.

_Knowing the Spider, he told them only half the truth_, Rhaenys was sure and rubbed her hands once more over hers shoulders. Then, she lifted her gaze to find the sky littered with countless stars. _For him we are just pieces in his game. Me, my brother and even Jon Snow. No, the spider cannot be trusted._

Yet, without the Spider they would have never made it out of King’s Landing, though Rhaenys doubted she would ever feel completely at ease until they arrived at Riverrun. And while she doubted that Robb Stark would be happy to have her there, she knew he would not mistreat her.

That is if they made it to Riverrun. They still weeks of travel ahead of them and many dangers that could cross their path.

“You are always so quiet,” Arya’s voice called her back from the present and made her turn her head. The younger girl had been running about all day and showed not even the hint of exhaustion. “Are you sad?”

Rhaenys shook her head and smiled at the girl, although she looked more like a mischievous boy with her short hair and breeches. At times, she was also wearing Jon’s cloak, but today it was warmer, and she was running around only in her tunic.

“I am not sad,” Rhaenys replied. “I am just longing for a proper bath. I can already feel the layers of dirt on my skin. It is beginning to itch. What about you? Are you not missing a proper bath?”

The girl grinned and hopped unto the cart, making Melara squeak in surprise, who had been asleep.

“I don’t like cold baths!” Arya replied and waved her hand at Jon, whose mood had only worsened since they had left King’s Landing. “If I can’t have a hot bath like in Winterfell I do not want to bath at all! As for the itching…it always gets better. Try to think of something else.”

“That is comforting to know,” Rhaenys replied and wanted to say more, but the cart had come to an abrupt halt. Cosco climbed down from his horse, _Lord Butterfly_ following him like his shadow. Jon came as well and didn’t hesitate to help unloading their belongings.

Rhaenys stretched her legs before helping Mimmy with her belongings. They erected tents, gathered firewood and cooked stew over an open flame. It was made of leftovers from the day before, but it was their only real meal since morn, where they had eaten hard bread and cheese from the wheel _Lord Butterfly_ guarded day and night. Sometimes, Rheanys saw him sleeping with a dagger beneath his pillow, though she doubted such a small weapon would be any use against Lannister blades. Only Jon had a proper sword, but he was only one man.

But that was not the only discomfort they had to endure, for at night it was even colder and Rhaenys had to wrap herself up in her furs to keep herself from freezing to death. _Lord Butterfly_, had even offered to sleep next to her to warm her a bit, but Jon had chased him away with a cold look and thus she had slept between Jon and Arya, who had a rather terrible habit: she was talking in her sleep.

And perhaps that was the reason for Rhaenys exhaustion, but Jon Snow looked much worse than her these days. His face was haggard, framed by his dark brown hair, all dirty and greasy. At times, he looked at her, but whenever Rhaenys tried to speak with him, he fell silent again.

She didn’t know why, but she had the feeling something very bad had happened before he had joined her in King’s Landing. Something that he didn’t want to reveal to anyone.

As for King’s Landing itself, she had yet to hear any actual truths.

Rhaenys wouldn’t believe these rumours until she had seen them with her own eyes, but she desperately hoped they were not true, namely that the Lannisters had triumphed over Stannis Baratheon. She had hoped and prayed with all her heart that they would all die and suffer like her mother had suffered, but then the gods rarely granted the wishes of little princesses. No, they granted the wishes of rotten men like Tywin Lannisters.

Truly, it was an unjust world they lived in.

“You are not eating,” Mimmy remarked beside. She eyed Rhaenys bowl greedily, but Rhaenys ate quickly. She was hungry, but her turbulent mind rarely gave her any rest these days.

“Don’t be so greedy, Mim,” Cosco chided her and plucked the string of his harp. “Soon we shall reach the Rubyford and then we will hopefully find more than burned ruins and begging people. Gods, what have these greedy lords done to these beautiful lands? Last time I have been travelling the Riverlands it has been a rich land full of smiling maids and wheat standing higher than Mim. Truly, it is a shame.”

_Truly, it is a shame_. That was his favourite word and whenever he said it, he would twirl his elegant beard in the most dramatic manner, but then he had been raised as a mummer in one of the many companies of Braavos and was constantly playing some role. At times, Rhaenys was not even sure what kind of role he was playing.

“And the war will most likely continue if the rumours are true,” Lord Butterfly added and took a bite from his hard bread. He had only two teeth, but he used his ugliness well to make people laugh. Especially, children liked him and two girls that had come their way yesterday had even given them a basket of sour apples for his performance. Rhaenys supposed that sometimes laughter was more important than food or perhaps they had only felt pity for them, these mummers that were on their way to doom. “I think we shouldn’t travel further into the Riverlands, but go to Saltpans and sail straight to Essos. Better opportunities will await us there.”

Rhaenys said nothing and Jon frowned. It was hard to read what he was thinking.

“I shall think about it,” Cosco declared at last, a heavy sigh leaving his lips, as he plucked once more on his high harp. “But before that I shall play up a song? Any wishes?”

A good dozen of demands were given, but Rhaenys couldn’t care less about songs. Instead of listening, she rose to her feet and went to gather her belongings. She needed to change into her other dress for this one was soaked with mud

Not far from the camp, she undressed. Then, she used he cloth and dipped it into the rain water they had gathered and washed herself. More than that they could not afford, but the gods willing they would soon be able to have a proper bath. The Rubyford meant that they were close to the Inn at the Crossroads and the Quiet Isle, two possibilities to find shelter and a bath. Well, the Inn at the Crossroads was most likely a dream, for she doubted their coin meant much these days and for all she knew it might just be gone like so many other villages they had travelled through. Rhaenys supposed the Quiet Isle would have to suffice. Perhaps they would even get a proper meal or a dry bed for the night. The monks there were always helpful.

It had been the rustling of the leaves that had startled her, but she noticed Jon, his eyes covered with his hand, she calmed instantly.

“You can look,” she assured him and quickly closed the buttons of her dress. “I am decent.”

Jon dropped his hand and stepped closer. He frowned at her. “You shouldn’t run off. It is dangerous.”

She nodded her head and picked up her cloak before fastening the garment around her shoulders.

“And you followed me. So, there was no reason to be afraid, was there?”

Jon shrugged his shoulders and leaned against the tree.

“Do you dislike Cosco’s music? I thought you like the harp.”

“I am not in the mood for music,” Rhaenys replied and jerked her head at the camp looming in the distance. “I am afraid. I think we shouldn’t travel further to Riverrun. I also think we should to Saltpans. Perhaps we could go to Dorne instead?”

The expression on Jon’s face told her that he was not happy with her suggestion.

“I gave my promise to Lord Varys to speak to my brother. I don’t like him either, but he helped me, and he might be able to help Sansa as well. He also helped your brother. Perhaps he is not as bad as you think.”

Rhaenys chuckled. “And here I thought you are too old to believe in fairy tales?”

Jon Snow snorted. “I do not believe in fairy tales, but I keep my word even if it is inconvenient. And there is another reason…I want to bring Arya home. I owe my brother so much. And if we are lucky we might soon come about his men or a Riverlord.”

Rhaenys shook her head. “I have seen only barred gates and some of these castles might be held by the enemy. We can never know at who’s door we are knocking. I think we shouldn’t tell anyone who we are until we have found a friendly face or do as I suggested…go to Dorne.”

“Go then,” Jon Snow replied and sighed deeply. “Go with them to Saltpans if you wish. I would leave you half the coin, but I need to go to Riverrun. I need to bring Arya home.”

Rhaenys sighed in frustration and shook her head in disagreement. “Either we go together or not at all.”

In truth, she didn’t want to leave them. For all his stubbornness, she liked and trusted Jon Snow. These mummers were strangers to her and might just sell her off to the enemy.

“Then, we go to Riverrun.”

Rhaenys nodded her head and forced a smile over her lips. “We go to Riverrun.”

Jon sighed in relief and stepped closer. His features softened a little. “I didn’t mean to insult you, really. It is just…something happened before we left King’s Landing.”

Rhaenys was surprised that he would bring it up. He was always so secretive.

“What happened? I only know that Cersei called you to her bed.”

His lips twisted into a pained smile.

“And I am surprised you knew about it. I tried my best to hide it.”

“I had my loyal eyes,” Rhaenys explained and searched his face. “What happened?”

Jon averted his gaze as he forced the words over his lips.

“I killed her…I killed her.”

Rhaenys said nothing. It took her a moment to understand what Jon meant.

It was not like she felt any sadness over Cersei’s passing, but she simply couldn’t imagine Jon Snow doing something like that.

Unless, Cersei had done something to him…

“What did she do?” Rhaenys asked and touched his cheek. The scratches were nearly healed, but they were still visible. “Did she hurt you?”

“Not me,” Jon Snow replied and clenched his teeth. “And it was not right. My father would not approve of it. She was a woman.”

“An evil witch would be the better expression,” Rhaenys replied and took his hand to squeeze it gently. ”So you are feeling guilty? I suppose that is understandable, but you are not the kind of person who would do such a thing without a good reason. Whatever she did to you or someone else I am sure she deserved it.”

Jon frowned again. “You hated her, didn’t you?”

Rhaenys laughed. “Half of King’s Landing hated her and that was all of her own making. Hell, even the King hated her. Perhaps you are right, and she deserved pity, but sadly I do not feel it in my heart.”

“I don’t feel pity either,” he said after a moment of silence had passed between them. His breath was rising into the sky in plumes of white smoke. “I thought I was the only one. I thought something was wrong with me for feeling like this…for liking this feeling of sweet revenge.”

Rhaenys finally understood.

“You are not a bad person,” Rhaenys replied. “And I do not think Lord Stark would hate you for it. He seemed a very forgiving man to me. I certainly don’t hate you.”

Jon nodded his hand and dropped her hand. An awkward silence reigned between them.

“We should go back,” she said and stepped away.

He nodded his head once more.

“We should go back.”

…


	37. Aegon

**Aegon**

The House of the Undying was nothing more than a grey ruin of dust and stone. It was a building without windows and surrounded by a high grove of black-barked trees whose inky leaves rustled softly as they passed beneath their shade.

Yet, Qaithe had let him here on his bidding.

“This place looks dangerous, your Grace,” Jon Connington said beside him. “I advise against this.”

“I have to find Daenerys,” Aegon insisted and shook his head. He was trying to appear brave, but his heart felt as if it was about to burst. “She is my wife and without her I am not going to sail back to Westeros.”

“Your Grace!” Jon Connington protested, but Aegon silenced him once more.

“I am going,” Aegon said at last and followed after Qaithe, who had been watching him from the distance, her black robes fluttering in the wind. “And I shall return with Daenerys. Wait here for me.”

There at the door he was greeted by a strange man.

He had a bald head and blue lips. He bowed his head to Qaithe as if he knew her.

“Shadowbinder,” he said. “What brings you here?”

“This is Aegon Targaryen,” she introduced. “He is here to find his wife.”

The warlock smiled as he eyed Aegon.

“You are of the old blood. I can feel it. You are welcome.”

Aegon had the feeling this warlock was playing a game with him.

“Where is Daenerys?”

“You must enter,” the warlock explained and waved his hand at the door. “Alone.”

“I see,” Aegon replied and swallowed hard. He took one last glimpse at Jon Connington. “I shall comply by your rules, warlock.”

“Excellent,” the warlock replied. “You are welcome.”

Aegon nodded his head in understanding before he passed through the shade of the trees. The darkness made him uncomfortable, but it was his only way home.

When they arrived at the entrance, the warlock gave him one last advice.

“The front way leads in, but not out. Head my words, Aegon Targaryen. If you value your live take care and do as I say.”

This sounded bad, but perhaps the warlock was lying.

The warlock’s whispery voice followed him as he stepped towards the door.

“When you enter you will find yourself in a room with four doors: the one through which you have come through and three others. Take the door to the right. Always, the door to your right. If you should come upon a staircase, climb. Never go down and never take a door but the door to your right.”

It sounded like madness, but that was the only way to find Daenerys.

“And how do I leave?”

“Leaving and coming, it is always the same. Go up and always take the door to the right. Other doors may open as well, but within them you will see things that might disturb you. Visions of loveliness and horror, wonders and terrors, sights and sounds of days long gone and days that never were. Most importantly, enter no room until you reach the audience chamber.”

Aegon’s head was squirming already.

“I understand.”

Then, he stepped through the door. It was an oval mouth carved in the likeness of a human face. There awaited him another person, a dwarf with a pinched and pointed face.

The dwarf offered him a crystal glass filled with a thick blue liquid.

Aegon drank the liquid and was surprised that it wasn’t half as disgusting as he had expected.

The first drop had tasted like ink, but the next one sweeter, like iced milk or the spicy food he liked.

The warmth of the liquid spread like a small kindling flame through his chest.

Aegon felt light-hearted, as he handed the cup back to the dwarf.

“You may enter,” the warlock’s voice announced. “You are welcome.”

Aegon looked around, as he had entered the room.

There were four doors and he went straight through the right one, like the warlock had instructed him.

The second room looked like a mirror image of the first one and again he walked through the right door.

The next room looked different. It was round rather than square and the walls were made from marble.

Six doors awaited him there and again he chose the right door.

Next, he found himself in a long dark hall. There he found torches and picked one, as protection against the darkness.

He walked along the hall, taking a glimpse in each room.

In the first room, he saw a beautiful woman that was being serviced by four dwarfs, all of them wearing precious crowns.

Heading the warlock’s advice, Aegon quickly moved on to the next room. There, he found a golden-haired woman lying on the ground. Her face was purple, as if all air had been pressed out of her body. She was dead, so much Aegon could tell, but he moved on, sparing himself the smell of rot.

The next room felt familiar. It was filled with the faint smell of roses, like his home in Volantis.

“Come to me,” he heard the soothing voice of Septa Mordane call out to him. “Come to me, my little prince.”

Aegon wanted to go to her, but he knew it was an illusion. Septa Mordane had travelled with Prince Viserys to Dorne.

“No,” he said and rushed down the hall. “Leave me! I have to find Daenerys!”

The path before him felt endless. One room after another followed. Catching his breath, he leaned against the wall, the torch nearly slipping out of his hand.

When he looked up again, he found a great door made of gold.

It opened on its own accord and Aegon stepped inside the long hall, held by high pillars.

“Burn them all!” someone shouted angrily. “Burn them all!”

The man was seated on a large spiky chair, his long silver hair brushing his feet.

This mad man was his grandfather, so much he could tell. He shared Viserys’ features but lacked his youth.

Aegon fled from the mad king’s eyes, stepping into the next room. This one was smaller and strangely familiar.

Next to the burning hearth sat a young man. He was dressed in black and red, his long silver hair falling all the way down to his shoulders. His dark indigo eyes were filled with sadness.

_Father._

The woman on the bed covered in furs was also familiar. She had dark skin, but her eyes were lighter and golden. She looked exhausted, her body trembling, as she fed the silver-haired babe.

_Mother._

“Will you make him a song?” his mother asked.

His father said nothing for a long time before he lifted his head to look at his mother. It was as if he was looking through her.

“If the signs are true he is the prince. That means he has no need of any song of mine.”

His mother looked hurt and looked away. “You are still thinking of that girl. You know I cannot give you a third one.”

“For which I do not blame you,” his father replied softly and continued to watch the flames. “But you are right. The dragon has three heads and there needs to be a third one.”

“A third one,” Aegon heard his father’s voice echo in his ears for a long time, even after the vision had long faded away. “A third one.”

The silence was disturbed by another cry, sharper and full of pain. The cry made him shudder and he stopped a moment before he dared to glimpse into the next room.

There he found a woman, lovely and young to behold. Her long face was a grimace of pain and her brown hair was sticking to her face, as she cried out in pain.

Aegon wanted to touch them, but then he recalled the warlock’s warning and recoiled.

Outside, he strengthened the flames of his torch at a nearby brazier and stepped through the next door, reminding himself of his goal.

_I cannot allow myself to be distressed by these visions. I need to find Daenerys._

Suddenly, he heard something. Something was there, dragging itself slowly over the floor.

Aegon rushed down the corridor before him. To him it felt like half an eternity until he reached the ending of the path which led into a bottomless staircase.

Aegon sucked in a deep breath and used his hand to balance himself against the wall to find his way through the darkness. He still had his torch, but the flames had grown weaker and soon it will be gone.

_I must go on_, he reminded himself. _The first door on the right, always the first door on the right…Of course, the first door on the right is the last door on the left!_

Not wasting another breath he flung himself through the door, finding himself in another room with four doors.

He chose the right door again and again, but one room followed another. He felt as if he was running in circles, his mind spinning madly.

At last, he found himself in a broad hall made of pale stone.

“Are you done, Prince Aegon?” the warlock’s whispering voice made him turn around. “How long until you can take your place beside your wife?”

“How long?” Aegon asked angrily. It felt as if the warlock was mocking him. “I have walked for hours and found nothing. What game are you playing, warlock?”

“You have taken a wrong turn,” the warlock replied and lifted his hand. “Let me help you.”

Aegon frowned at the offer and was about to stretch out his hand when he heard a strange sound.

It sounded like the cry of an animal…

Ignoring the warlock, he stormed towards the right door.

_I must go on_, he reminded himself and climbed up another dozens of steps. His legs began to ache and sweat was running down his cheeks. _I must go on._

At last he reached the door, made of white and black wood.

There beyond the door, he found strange people, clad in robes of crimson and silver and gold.

The first one to rise upon his entrance was an old man in a long golden robe.

He was very old.

“Welcome, Prince Aegon Targaryen,” the man said and pointed behind him. “Your blood has already joined us.”

With blood he meant Daenerys, who was seated among them, clad in crimson robes. Her eyes were open, but she looked as if she was under some spell. Her hair was also gone.

“Daenerys!” Aegon called out to her. “What happened to you?”

Daenerys didn’t move, but the sound of this foreign animal rang once more in his ears. When he lowered his head, he found a creature seated beneath Daenerys’ feet, a small chain wound around its head.

Aegon didn’t believe his eyes. The small black-winged creature was truly a dragon. A breathing and living dragon.

Then, he heard another chirping sound and another winged creature appeared. The green dragon was suddenly there, seated on Daenerys’ shoulder. At last, came a cream-coloured dragon that curled its spiky tail around her naked feat.

Even a puff of smoke left the dark dragon’s mouth.

It was then, that Daenerys finally spoke.

“Be welcome, Aegon Targaryen. Come and share with us the food of forever. We are the Undying.”

“We have longed to meet you,” a woman added.

She was very beautiful and her breasts bare.

“We knew of your coming,” a man added. “Your kin told us.”

“We have knowledge to share with you. Come and sit and all your questions shall be answered,” Daenerys said added.

“I have no need of knowledge,” Aegon replied and stepped towards Daenerys .”I only want Daenerys…and the dragons. They are yours, aren’t they, Daenerys?”

Daenerys didn’t answer, but the black dragon did. He chirped loudly and flapped his wings, puffs of smoke rising into the air.

“A marvellous beast!” one of the younger ones said. “Come and sit. We shall teach you the dragon tongue!”

Everyone laughed, some of the woman stepping closer, their arms reaching out to him.

The dragons grew only more restless. They chirped loudly, flapping their winds, more and more plumes of smoke rising from their nostrils.

Aegon looked back at Daenerys and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her.

It was no use.

The enemy was drawing ever closer. More and more of them rose and stretched out their hands towards them.

Aegon tried to push them away, but it was no use.

They were pulling on his clothing, their long fingernails digging deep into his skin.

He felt as if he was suffocating, but the song of the dragons kept him awake.

The first thing he felt was the heat.

The next thing he saw, were flames dancing around him. Small flames, like a kindling fire. Red, yellow, orange and gold. Beautiful beyond words.

And hot enough to make their enemy scream.

And to rouse Daenerys out of her trance.

From one moment to the next, her eyes were wide open.

“Aegon!”

“Finally!” he shouted and picked her up, as the flames continued to dance around them. “We must leave!”

Daenerys held unto his shoulder and looked around.

“The dragons!”

Aegon didn’t answer, for he was occupied pushing his way to the door. The dragons followed suit, their wings carrying them.

How they had lost their chains, Aegon couldn’t say, but then a good dozen of these Undying had perished upon the touch of the flames.

It was like a magic trick.

Aegon had no time to think about it and pushed against the door, the shrieks of the Undying following after them.

Another push and the door was finally open. Then, they were running again.

Daenerys, who had long left his embrace, was doing the same.

She was running as if her life depended upon it, but more than once her gaze darted back to the dragons.

Faster and faster they ran. A good dozen of corridors they crossed before they finally saw a light. It was weak and distant, but it was there.

Aegon grabbed Daenerys’ hand and pulled her along.

“This path is never-ending!” Daenerys shouted.

“Only if we stop!” Aegon shouted back and pulled harder on her arm. She nearly stumbled, but he caught her in time. “Only if we stop!”

As he burst through the next door, it felt as if they had jumped into a deep abyss.

Cold air washed over his face and then he hit the ground.

A painful sound escaped his lips, as he pulled himself back to his feet. His bones cracked and his back hurt, as he turned to look at Daenerys.

She sat on the floor, her crimson robes loose and her naked feet bloody. Her tuft of silver hair shone like molten silver in the dying sunlight.

It was a surreal sight when he saw the dragons climbing all over her. One was on her shoulder, one in her lap and the other one was trying to suckle from her breast.

“Your Grace!” a familiar voice called out to them. ”Your Grace!”

It was Lord Connington, who stopped midway, mumbling something incoherent when he saw the dragons.

“Gods be good!”

…


	38. Robb

**Robb**

Robb felt his arm ache, as he climbed from his horse. Olyvar was always close, ready to help him, but that was exactly what bothered him.

He was king and he couldn’t show weakness, especially after he had dishonoured himself by breaking his promise to Walder Frey. Truth be told, most of his allies held not much love for Walder Frey, but his father would have certainly disapproved of his actions. Neither would his father have approved of Robb seeking comfort in the arms of a maid.

“Robb,” Jeyne’s voice called him back to the present. “Are you well, love?”

She was standing in front of him, her dark hair pulled up behind her ears. The grey cloak he had gifted her was wound around her shoulders and a beautiful silver brooch held the garment together. It was another gift, fit for the Queen in the North.

All that was missing was a crown, but Robb had found no smith on his way to Riverrun to fashion one for his queen.

“I am well,” he told her and was about to place a kiss on her lips when he noticed Olyvar’s staring. “I am well.”

Jeyne smiled and waved her hand at her family. She had two brothers and a sister. There was Raynald, the oldest and Rollam the youngest. Eleyna looked much like Jeyne, but she was a bit of a tomboy, much like Robb’s sister Arya. At times, it pained him to look at her.

Her mother had come too, a cold and domineering woman. Yet, Jeyne was very fond of her and Robb didn’t want to sadden her further, for they had given up their lands in the Westerlands to join him. Only her father was missing, Lord Gawen Westerling, who was still imprisoned at Seaguard.

Robb had wanted to give orders to free him, but ever since he had heard of his mother’s actions he had other things to worry about.

“You must be careful,” Jeyne chided him and led him to through the gates. “There is always the risk of inflammation.”

Robb laughed, but when he laid eyes on his Grand-Uncle the Blackfish and his Uncle Edmure, his smile faded at once. Greywind was close, but Robb didn’t call for his wolf, as Jeyne feared him.

“You look better than I expected, nephew,” the Blackfish greeted him with a loop-sided smile and patted his shoulder. “Though a bit pale around the face.”

“And this must be your bride,” his Uncle Edmure added with obvious displeasure. “She is quite pretty.”

Jeyne blushed and the Blackfish flashed Edmure an accusing look. Then, he lowered his head in reverence and kissed Jeyne’s hand.

“As my other nephew said…you are very welcome, your Grace.”

“Robb told me much about you,” she replied and blushed even more. Her smile was as bright as a star. “I am honoured to meet you all.”

“The honour is ours, your Grace,” Lord Yohn Royce added. Robb could tell by the grim expression on his face that he wasn’t happy to see his bride. “I have good tidings for you regarding the Kingslayer, your Grace.”

Robb was surprised.

“Good tidings?” Robb asked in confusion. “I thought my mother freed him and he escaped.”

“She did,” the Blackfish added. “But we captured him again. He is back in the dungeons where he belongs.”

Robb felt relief washing over him, but he also knew what his mother had done was a serious offence.

“Where is my mother?” Robb asked the Blackfish.

“We put her under house arrest,” Yohn Royce said. “She is well, considering the circumstances… I am sure she will be pleased to see you.”

“I shall speak to her,” Robb confirmed and brushed his hand over Jeyne’s arm. She smiled warmly. “But first I must rest and my arm needs treatment.”

“I shall call for the Maester,” Edmure offered. “My father has no need of his help anymore.”

Robb shook his head. “I have the best care here...Jeyne is very gifted with herbs.”

“My mother is the true expert,” Jeyne explained. “And I wouldn’t mind if you called upon the Maester.”

“It is fine,” Robb assured her. “I trust your abilities.”

Edmure nodded his head in acknowledgement.

“We have prepared your chambers, nephew. And later we shall have a fine supper and speak in private.”

“We shall,” Robb promised and pulled Jeyne along.

“This chamber is so precious,” Jeyne admired the tapestry hanging from the wall. “I have never seen such a fine making.”

Robb smiled. She was often like a young child, but at other times she could also be very serious. Especially, whenever she was talking about her family and how she must do her best to help them.

“If you are impressed by Riverrun you will be even more impressed by Winterfell. Well…first I must take it back. A difficult task.”

“A task you will accomplish,” she assured him and returned to his side. She touched his bandaged arm gently. “I know it.”

“You have too much trust in me,” Robb replied and lifted her hand to press it to his lips. “But it is not as easy as you think. If Stannis had won I would sleep much lighter, but he lost. And Tywin Lannister has enough gold to buy himself a good dozen of sellsword companies.”

Jeyne nodded her head. “Lord Tywin is a rich man, but he is cruel and his men are not as loyal as yours. Surely, that counts for something?”

Robb wished the world was so easy. The Frey Lords had abandoned him of course and there was also Rickard Karstark, who was surely still vying for the Kingslayer’s head.

“I shall try my best,” Robb replied instead and watched as Jeyne pulled off one layer of clothing after another.

She had a slender body, but her breasts were full and beautiful. The mischievous smile on her lips told him what she wanted, but Robb had no time to waste.

He needed to speak with his mother, no matter how unpleasant.

“You are beautiful as ever,” he told her and touched her side. “But you ought to rest.”

Jeyne chuckled and pulled her dress back over her head. She hid her disappointment well.

“Well, that means I won’t have to pretend I am drinking mother’s _disgusting_ fertility tea.”

Robb laughed.

Jeyne hated this tea, but pretended that she was drinking it for her mother’s sake.

Robb found it silly, but also understood Jeyne’s reasons.

_No one wants quarrel with his mother._

_Not even kings._

Nevertheless, Robb knew he had to face his mother, though he rather wished to spend the rest of the evening in Jeyne’s arms.

The travel had exhausted him and the soft bed looked even more tempting.

“Go then,” Jeyne said and kissed his cheek. “I shall wait for you.”

Robb pulled her back into his embrace and kissed her softly. Hje joined Olyvar, who was quiet as always.

Robb knew why. He was torn on his loyalties to his family.

But now was not the time for this.

It was time to face his mother.

“You are back, my son,” his mother said when he entered her chamber or better said her comfortable prison. “I am glad to see you hale.”

Robb allowed her the display of affection, but at the same time he hardened his heart.

It was much harder than expected when he saw his mother’s pale and thin face.

She must have grieved Bran and Rickon as much as him.

“They told me what you _did_,” Robb replied, as he balanced himself against the wall. Carefully, he lowered himself on the cushioned chair. “Why did you do it?”

His mother exhaled deeply and sat down across him, folding her hands in her lap.

“Bran and Rickon,” she stuttered. “I thought I could free Arya and Sansa.”

“Sansa is married to Joffrey,” Robb pointed out the bitter truth. “She is never coming back unless I kill Joff and put his head on a pike. And Arya…she is my sister, but my men will think me weak if I exchange her for the Kingslayer. He is far too important. What were you thinking, mother?”

“I was not thinking clearly,” his mother admitted and trembled. “I was stricken by grief and saddened by my failure in the Reach.”

Robb understood her better than he could say, but his lords would not.

“I am sure you have heard of my folly,” Robb replied. “I am wed. Her name is Lady Jeyne Westerling.”

His mother nodded her head in confirmation. “So I have heard. Walder Frey is lost to us now.”

“I only needed _this_ bridge,” Robb replied hotly. “And I am glad Arya won’t have to marry one of his foolish sons. Well, I am not proud of breaking my promise, mother, but it is not the same. What you did…some might see it as _treason_.”

His mother’s mouth fell open.

“Surely….,” she began, but Robb lifted his hand to silence.

“No harm shall come to you, mother,” he told her and hardened his voice. “But I must punish you and the best way to do this is to send you away.”

His mother swallowed hard.

“Where?”

Robb forced a smile over his lips. “It is half as bad as you think…I am sending you to the Vale to stay with Lord Royce’s family. You will be safer there than in Riverrun. I am sure Lord Tywin will soon strike again once he has recovered from the previous battle.”

His mother sighed. “I do not like being parted from you, but I suppose it needs to be done. I shall not mind staying with Lord Royce’s family, but tell me: What will you do about the Lannisters? You have the Kingslayer.”

Robb leaned back in his chair and brushed his hand over his face.

He knew what his mother wanted to say.

“You want me to make peace with them, don’t you?” Robb asked and tried to hide his displeasure .”I already told you…,” he began, but his mother cut him off.

“I know what you told me but think about it like this: Stannis is defeated and alive, but I doubt the Tyrells are going to side with him. His wife is a Florent after all. This means their only option is for them to bend the knee to the Lannisters.”

“Why are you so sure about that?” Robb asked. The very idea of doing the same disgusted him, though his mother was not completely wrong. Sansa was Joff’s queen and that was something that connected them with the Lannisters. It was one way to forge peace, but his lords would think differently. They would despise him for throwing away his crown. “Who says the Tyrells might not side with us over the Lannisters?”

“Because Mace Tyrell is hell-bent on making his daughter a queen,” his mother explained. “And you are already wed. I also have no doubt the Lannister are going to offer the Tyrells a match to Prince Tommen. I admit, it is not the same as marrying the King, but it still gives them a chance to crown. It also makes Sansa’s position more difficult.”

Robb couldn’t help but to frown. “Do you have any proof for such an allegiance between the Lannisters and the Tyrells?”

His mother shook hear head. “No, but I am sure it is already under way.”

Robb grabbed the handle of his chair.

“That means my only option is Stannis.”

“Stannis is the rightful king,” his mother agreed. “And your father would have supported him, but he is too weak. And by declaring for him the Tyrells are sure to side with the Lannisters. It is a dilemma, no matter how you look at it, my son.”

Robb chuckled bitterly. “On that we can agree on, mother. On that we can agree on.”

…


	39. Jon

**Jon**

Jon felt a chill wash over him when he noticed the woman’s bones twisting in the breeze.

He knew this place, but it looked so changed. It seemed the inn at the crossroads had been ravaged by war like the rest of the Riverlands.

And it seemed this woman had suffered for it, as had many others. Even so, the dark sky and the sound of rolling thunder ringing bright and loud in the distance frightened him more than the bones of some woman.

The mummers had left them two days ago with rations that would barely last till Riverrun. A meal and a night in this inn would certainly help or at least allow them to rest properly after two days of walking.

“I do not think we should go in there, Jon,” Arya said beside him. “It looks shady.”

“Your little squire speaks true,” Rhaenys said. The hood of her cloak concealed half her face. “Let us move on.”

“There is going to be a storm,” Jon said and shook his head. “And we need to cross the rubyford. To do that we need to know who holds it. Or do you want to swim through the cold water?”

“No,” Rhaenys replied. “But I think it is too dangerous to linger here.”

Jon understood her fear, but they were starved and exhausted. And without help they would not be able to cross the river. It had rained too much in the last days.

“Stay outside,” he told her. “Just keep your gaze lowered and don’t speak to anyone. So far, our travel has been kinder than we expected and we are close to Riverrun.”

“As you say,” Rhaenys replied and Jon pushed the door open. “But be careful.”

“I shall,” Jon replied and pulled up the hood of his cloak. “Just wait.”

With these words, he left them and entered the inn.

The smell of smoke and ale entered his nose, mixing with the smell of other odours. Sweat and blood and perhaps something else Jon could not quite describe.

His body tensed, as he glanced around to make out the faces of the people assembled in the common room.

There were six men and two girls were attending to them, one blond and one dark-haired. The two couldn’t be older than Sansa and there was also a third girl, serving ale from a wooden flagon.

Jon recognized her at once. It was Jeyne Heddle, the girl that had taken his maidenhead.

She looked changed. She looked starved and pale.

She also didn’t seem to appreciate the man slipping his hand beneath her skirt.

Jon sucked in a deep breath and lowered the hood of his cloak.

Recognition showed on Jeyne Heddle’s face, ignoring the calls of the man behind her.

“How may I help you?”

“It is me,” Jon replied in a low voice and smiled at the girl. “I hoped I and my travelling companions could stay here for the night. We have coin.”

Jeyne Heddle nodded her head. She didn’t seem displeased to see him. On the contrary, a warm smile was lightening up her thin face.

“How many?”

“Just me, my squire and a lady.”

Jeyne glanced back at the men calling for her.

“Can you share a room? As you can see, we are rather full.”

Jon glanced back at the men. Most of them were peasants and by their clothing one could tell that they had been living off the land.

“A room shall do,” he said and slipped his hand into the vest of his cloak. He showed her the coins. “Will this be enough?”

Jeyne gave him a wonderous look. “That is much too much.”

“Not these days,” Jon told her and leaned closer. “Keep the rest.”

Jeyne blushed and quickly slipped the coin in the pockets of her dress. “I thank you, good ser.”

“Jon,” he corrected her and patted her shoulder. It was then, that he noticed the presence of another man. He was young and very tall. His face was quite handsome and framed by dark hair. He was also glaring at Jon. “My name is Jon.”

Jeyne Heddle smiled again.

“Jon.”

“Jeyne,” he said and leaned closer once more. “I have another question for you. Is there a way to cross the rubyford?”

The lady nodded her head. “Aye, but it is guarded by Frey men. They will ask for coin.”

“Coin I have,” Jon replied. “Thank you, my lady.”

Jon went to call for Rhaenys and Arya, though he didn’t use their given names. Arya was now Harry and Rhaenys went by Elinor.

They spoke no word, as Jeyne led them up to their chamber, a square room with a bed made of hay and covered with woollen blankets. It was not much, but when Jon heard sound of the pouring rain outside, he was glad that they had taken the chance.

Jeyne was also kind enough to bring them fresh water and warmed-up broth.

“I must apologize,” Jeyne said after she had placed the pot with the broth and the cups on the table. “But we don’t have any bread left.”

“No need,” Jon assured her and received another smile. “We are thankful for what you can provide for us.”

“Well then, Jon,” Jeyne replied and left them.

“Do you know her?” Arya asked after the door had closed behind Jeyne Heddle. “She called you by your given name.”

Heat flushed Jon’s cheeks.

“I have met her before when I came here with Lord Tyrion,” Jon explained and shoved a spoon of broth into his mouth. It was warm enough but tasted bitter. “Her aunt owned this place. It seems the woman hanging at the door outside is her.”

Rhaenys had dropped her wooden spoon at his words. And instead of touching her food again she leaned against the wall and hid her face beneath the hood of her cloak.

It seemed as if she was listening to the sound of rolling thunder outside.

Arya was glad to eat her ration and was soon asleep in her furs.

It was no surprise. Jon was also exhausted.

“You should eat,” he told Rhaenys later and sat down beside her. He showed her the broth he had left for her. “Or you will end up like Jeyne’s aunt…just a heap of bones.”

“That is not at all funny, but morbid,” she chided him. “You know it.”

It was true, but Jon couldn’t help it.

Jesting was the only thing left to him.

“You should still eat,” he insisted and handed her the cup. “We still have a long way ahead of us.”

Rhaenys sighed and took the cup. She shoved the rest of it into her mouth and turned around, her cloak wound around her shoulders.

“I don’t like thunder.”

Jon was surprised by her reply. She had sounded almost like a frightened child.

“And I don’t like the bloody heat.”

“Soon there will be winter,” Rhaenys reminded him. “And the people here will slowly starve to death.”

Jon felt the need to say something uplifting, but he felt to tired.

Thus, he remained silent and listened to the thunder outside.

It was the sound of footsteps that pulled Jon out of his slumber.

To his surprise he found Arya and Rhaenys awake.

Rhaenys was brushing her hair and Arya was watching the world outside through the open window.

“It has stopped raining,” she told Jon. “But everything is muddy and wet. We are going to be incredibly dirty when we arrive at Riverrun. Mother is going to have a fit.”

“First we need to cross the rubyford,” Jon replied. “Then we can go to Riverrun.”

Rhaenys said nothing and simply dressed before joining them.

When they entered the common room, he only found a handful of men seated at a nearby table.

There were some children as well, but they were watching from the upper staircase. They all looked dirty and starved.

Jeyne was busy as ever. She was serving ale while avoiding the oily hands of the guests.

The young man who had glared at Jon the night before came to greet him this time.

“You are leaving?” he asked.

“Aye,” Jon replied and noticed the mighty warhammer he had leaned against the wall but hidden well enough that no one would see it at the first glance. “We shan’t trouble you anymore.”

“You know Jeyne,” he remarked tensely. “She called you Jon.”

Jon was taken back by his remark, but tried to remain polite. He didn’t want any quarrels.

“We have met before,” he said and lifted his hands in defence. “That is all.”

The boy frowned at him and leaned closer. “Are you sure about that?”

Arya was quick to come to his side and stuck her tongue out. “Are you calling Jon a liar, stupid?”

“Ar…Harry!” Jon admonished her and pulled her down. “I told you to stay with Elinor.”

Yet, the damage was already done. The the young man stared back at him with wide blue eyes.

“This one is a girl,” he whispered and eyed Rhaenys once more. “I see, you are hiding something.”

Jon brushed up his cloak, showing the young man his sword.

“Touch them and I shall kill you.”

The young man’s eyes grew only wider and he waved his hands in a quick motion.

“I would never sell you out. I was just surprised. You are friends of Jeyne after all.”

Jon didn’t know what to make of the young man, but he didn’t trust him at all. It was surely better to leave.

“I thank you,” Jon replied. “We are indeed leaving.”

“The rubyford,” the young man said then. “Jeyne told me. I could speak with the men there…handle things for you if you like. They know me.”

Jon bit his lips, pondering over the offer…

It was the sudden sound of horse hooves outside that directed his attention elsewhere. 

He could see them through the open door.

It were five riders. These men wore armour and carried bare steel.

“We must go,” Jon told the young man and pulled Rhaenys and Arya along. “But thank you. I shan’t forget your kindness.”

A heartbeat later, they were out of the door, a warm breeze ruffling Jon’s cloak.

The five men didn’t seem to notice him, but they noticed Rhaenys.

“What have we here?” one of them asked and searched Rhaenys’ face, which she tried to keep well-hidden beneath her cloak.

“My lady,” Jon snarled at the man. He was very tall, but not heavily muscled. He had a thick, black, spade-shaped beard all neatly trimmed and covering his jaws and jowls while his head was nearly completely bald. “Fuck off!”

His companions laughed and his squire grinned, as he eyed Arya. He had a big white pimple on one his nose and some red ones on his forehead. “This boy looks like a girl.”

“He is my squire,” Jon told him and showed the bald man his sword. “And you better keep yours in check.”

“Or what?” the bald man asked. “Will you fight me, boy?”

Jon tried to show no fear. The man was bigger than him, but that didn’t mean anything regarding his potential skill with the blade.

Even so, he wanted to avoid a fight.

“We jsut want to leave.”

Jon knew that he had made a mistake when the bald man bared his yellow teeth to the world.

Another grabbed Rhaenys around the arm.

_Fool. You shouldn’t have shown weakness._

“You are invited, boy,” he declared. “And your lady too.”

“I said…we are _not _interested,” Jon replied and tried to shove the man aside. Another one grabbed him and pulled him along.

Jon struggled and kicked the man off his back, but another one dealt him a hit to the face. He tasted iron in his mouth, as he pulled himself up to face two more of them.

It was no use. He managed to haul one to the ground and bloody his face, but the other two were too much. One grabbed his arm and the other got hold of his sword.

They were laughing, as they dragged a screaming Rhaenys along.

“Fight me then!” Jon spat out. “If I win you will let us go!”

The bald man laughed, as he turned around.

“Why should I?”

Jon spat out another handful of blood. “Because everyone will call you a coward if you refuse to fight a boy like me.”

The bald man’s gaze darkened at once, as he leaned closer.

“Very well,” he said at last. “Let us fight, boy. What is your name, hedge knight?”

“A hedge knight,” he replied. “Nothing more.”

“I am Polliver,” he replied and dipped his head in a mock gesture. “Well, met.”

Then, he turned to Rhaenys. “How does a hedge knight get such a pretty lady?”

“I am no lady,” Rhaenys replied and forced a smile over her lips. “He bought me from a brothel.”

“You are from Dorne,” the squire said and touched her breasts. “Only Dornish whores have such well-shaped teats.”

Rhaenys smiled again. It was feigned, but she was playing her role well. “I am from Sunspear, but my father was from Flea Bottom. I have kept many a lord company. That is why my speech is so refined.”

“And you allowed this boy to buy you?” Polliver asked. “Poor choice if you ask me, girl.”

“His father is a rich merchant,” Rhaenys pointed out. “He promised me silk and gold. How could I refuse?”

The men laughed and Jon felt only disgust.

“Fight me,” Jon repeated his offer. “Or are you afraid?”

Polliver grinned. “Aye, I have not forgotten. Let us fight. Then, she can suck my cock.”

“Give me back my sword,” Jon replied.

They gave him his sword and Polliver unsheathed his. 

They blades glinted brightly in the morning light and the guests of the inn were now standing at the windows and doors, watching them.

Only hushed whispers could be heard and the gentle breeze tugging at his cloak.

The blades met in quick movements. First above his head then right from him. His enemy was tall and Jon was short.

It was a strange combination.

And Jon had underestimated the man. He was ugly as a piece of shit and big, but he was not without skill.

Soon, he was pressing him steadily backwards, his heavy longsword moving with precision.

Jon’s only advantage was that he was thin and not easy to catch. Again and again, he evaded a cut and searched for a weakness.

He wore armour, but no full protection. His neck, arms and legs were pink and soft. Ready to be kissed by a blade.

Jon blocked another blow, which made his body tremble from head to toe. Gritting his teeth, he moved aside and dealt the man a blow to his left before dipping low and throwing himself around his waist.

His enemy seemed surprised by his actions. He nearly stumbled.

It was the time, Jon needed.

He slipped his dagger free and rammed it into his enemy’s leg.

Polliver screamed and Jon pulled himself up. With his dagger still in hand he was about to rush towards his enemy to give him another wound, but Polliver’s squire pushed him to the ground.

Jon kicked runt off him, but it was no use, for Polliver’s other companion were at him again. One pushed him into the back and the other kicked at his feet. And the third grabbed his arm and twisted it painfully, his blade falling to the ground.

Aching from head to toe, they pressed his face into the mud.

“You treacherous little boy,” Polliver snarled and stumbled towards Jon. His leg was bleeding, the blood mixing with the mud. “You are more cunning than I thought. Well, I shall make you pay for it. Get them all inside.”

Jon kicked and screamed, but it was no use. More blood was running down his chin by the time they had dragged him inside.

Arya was curled up in a corner, her face incredibly pale and Rhaenys was soon pulled into Polliver’s lap, her dress and cloak being pulled off by his companions.

She played along readily, but Jon could see the fear in her eyes.

“Bring us some food,” Polliver demanded from Jeyne Heddle. “And wine! Bring us all the wine you have!”

“Sure,” Jeyne replied and rushed away, taking two of the girls with her. “Sure.”

They came back later, carrying flagons filled with wine. Polliver’s men drank greedily while their leader pulled on Rhaenys’ dress, slipping his finger inside her bodice.

Rhaenys was biting her lips but didn’t protest, not even when he slipped his other hand between her legs.

“Now tell me, girl,” Polliver said and grinned. “Do you like that better?”

Rhaenys gave him a trembling smile, but her answer never left her lips, because the rattling of the door caused them all to turn their heads.

A heartbeat later an arrow pierced the head of Polliver’s squire.

An archer in a piss-colored cloak had unleashed an arrow the moment he had entered the common room and was already preparing the next.

Jon used the moment to kick the man to his right between the legs.

With a groan of pain he kissed the ground and soon enough Jon was atop the other one.

He was squeaking like a pig, but Jon had no time to enjoy his revenge for Polliver had grabbed Rhaenys’ by the hair, holding his blade to her neck.

“One more step or I will kill her,” he threatened, his dagger biting into Rhaenys’ neck. “Do you hear me, boy!”

Then, he turned his head at the archer. “And you, piss cloak!”

Jon froze and took a deep breath.

“Leave us be,” Jon said and noticed that Jeyne’s protector was also there, lingering at the entrance to the common room. There were two other men with him, all garbed in armour and carrying weapons. “That is all we wanted.”

Polliver pulled once more on Rhaenys’ hair, making her gasp.

“No step…,” he threatened, as he sat back down. He made Rhaenys kneel beside him, his blade still resting on her neck, but the rest of his words died on his lips, when someone drove a blade into his neck, twisting and pushing, but not quite penetrating.

Blood ran down his chest, as he collapse to the ground like a puppet without strings, Rhaenys rushing forward, nearly stumbling into Jon’s arms.

When Jon looked up again, he found Arya hovering behind Polliver, her bloody blade still in hand…

She was trembling.

As were Jon and Rhaenys.

Polliver died with a gurgling sound on his lips and Arya quickly stumbled back to him.

It was Jeyne’s voice that called Jon back to the present.

“You came just in time, Lem,” Jeyne said to the man with the piss-colored cloak. “The seven be blessed…Gendry found you and the others.”

“We are always close by,” the archer said and turned to Jon. “Beric promised we would protect you.”

…


	40. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

The water was so very blue. The steady beat of the drums and the soft swish of the oars made it hard to keep her eyes open.

She felt exhausted since she had left the House of the Undying, where she had been put into some strange slumber that had given her nightmares and visions she had never asked for.

And the result of her experiences were these three dragons. Truly, they were three wonderful beasts that were now flying circles above their ships. Now and then, they dipped down into the blue waters and caught a fish, which they greedily tore apart on deck, much to the amusement of Doreah, Jhiqui and Irri.

Dany was pleased to have her handmaids here, for it meant she had an excuse to not share her chamber with Aegon. Not that she still held a grudge against him, but her experiences in the House of the Undying were still weighing heavily on her mind.

Even so, her nephew had come to save her. That counted for something, but it was only the beginning.

There was also another reason, she didn’t want to speak with Aegon, a far more personal one…

Watching the sky and the sea was much more pleasing.

As a young girl she had crossed the sea half a hundred times, running from one Free City to the next, always trying to be half a step ahead from the usurper.

She also liked the sailors and once on a voyage to Braavos, she had told her brother that they ought to become sailors. Her brother had only twisted her hair and she had cried the whole night.

“You are the blood of the dragon,” he had snarled at her. “A dragon and no smelly fish.”

Viserys was now far away in Dorne, but she feared what he would do once he got his hands on one of the dragons.

“The winds are weak,” a foreign voice roused her from her thoughts. It was Quaithe, the woman that had led Aegon here to find them. As always, she wore one of her beautiful masks. “But the tide will turn soon enough and then you will be able to sail back to Pentos. I must leave you then.”

Dany was surprised. “Why is that?”

“I must return home,” she replied. “Asshai.”

Dany nodded her head. “What is it like in Asshai?”

“Rotten,” she replied. “But I shall not linger there for long. Once I am done with my work, I shall join you in Westeros. There are things that need to be done and you will have need of my help to guide you once more.”

Dany felt the urge to ask more, but she knew it would be no use. Quaithe seemed hide her secrets as much as her face.

Yet, there was still one question she wanted to ask.

“I have not right to ask you this,” Dany replied and looked up. “But there is one thing I want to know. How did I wake the dragons? How is it possible that I am still alive?”

“This is a question I can answer,” Quaithe replied. “Your eggs were frozen by magic and like all children they needed a mother to birth them. You did that. As for your survival…only death can pay for life. Your child paid for yours.”

Dany shuddered and clutched her belly. She had known that something was amiss when she had bled heavily, but now that she had the confirmation, it felt as if a heavy weight had settled itself on her chest.

“I thank you for telling me.”

Dany could hear Quaithe’s gentle laughter behind her mask.

“I told you nothing. You have already known.”

Quaithe had left her then and when Dany looked over her shoulder she noticed Aegon’s presence.

He had spent all morn speaking with Jon Connington about this and that, but Dany had not chosen to join them.

Aegon didn’t seem to sense her discomfort and stepped closer.

He smiled as he waved his hand at the black-winged dragon.

“This one looks like Balerion the Dread.”

Dany smiled. “How big will he grow I wonder?”

Aegon chuckled nervously. “I heard that dragons never stop growing.”

Dany liked the idea, though that also meant they would need a lot of space.

“First we will need a name.”

Dany nodded her head and brushed her hand over the soft tuft of silver hair growing there.

“I have thought of names, but I am not sure if you approve.”

Aegon smiled. “Tell me.”

“Rhaegal perhaps…for your father?”

“Perhaps,” Aegon said and grimaced. “But why not name them after the conqueror’s dragons: Balerion, Vhagar and Meraxes. They are after all the first dragons to be hatched in more than a century.”

Dany hadn’t thought of that, but it were indeed fitting names.

“If you like,” she said and beheld the dragons once more. “The colours are also similar. Very well, let us call them after the conqueror’s dragons.”

Aegon smiled at that, his gaze darting to the white-haired knight he had brought with him. He had introduced him as Ser Barristan Selmy, a man that had betrayed their family by bending the knee to the usurper.

Even so, Aegon had forgiven him and had allowed him to enter his service.

He was far too trusting that nephew of hers.

Dany was curious to speak with the knight, but hadn’t dared to do so far.

“What will we do now?” she asked after a while.

“We are going to sail home,” Aegon replied. “First, to Dorne and then we shall take back what was lost.”

Dany had expected that kind of answer, but she didn’t completely trust the Dornish.

They had not done anything for her and Viserys for all these years in exile, though the usurper had killed their Princess.

But then the usurper had also held her niece hostage.

Perhaps they had simply been too afraid someone might find out.

Which brought her back to her niece.

“What about your sister?”

Aegon seemed startled by her question.

“My sister…I do not know what I could do for her.”

Dany said nothing to that and her gaze followed dragons once more.

“We have three dragons,” she said. “Viserys told me once that dragons only choose one rider. I wonder who they will choose.”

Aegon’s feelings on this matter were written plain on his face.

“I hope your brother is not one of them.”

Dany chuckled. “Me either.”

Aegon shrugged his shoulders and looked at the dragons.

“I suppose that is one thing we can agree on…,” he trailed, a sudden realization washing over his face a moment later.

“Three dragons…,” he repeated to himself. “I saw something when I was in the House of the Undying…a vision of my father and mother.”

Dany was starteled to hear that he had experienced something similar.

She too had experienced her mother’s life or so it had felt to her. She had also seen her brother with a young woman had not been Princess Elia.

Yet, until now she had thought of it as not more than a mere vision.

“What was this vision like?” Dany asked curiously.

Aegon leaned closer and smiled sadly. “My father was there and my mother…I was a babe at her breast. She asked him to play a song for her, but he refused. He said that I have no need of a song if I am the promised prince.”

“The promised prince,” Dany repeated in wonder and shock. “I heard this before. Did my brother say more?”

“No,” Aegon replied. “I only heard him whisper that there needs to be another dragon…that there need to be three dragons. My mother also spoke of the maid my father supposedly stole away from her betrothed…Lyanna Stark.”

Dany nodded her head. “Viserys claimed that he loved her.”

Lady Ashara as well, but she kept that to herself.

Aegon nodded his head in agreement. “Lord Connington implied more than once that my mother and father were not a particularly passionate match.”

“Lord Connington never held much love for the Princess,” another voice added. It was Ser Barristan, whose blue eyes searched Dany’s face with a mixture of sadness and warmth. “You shouldn’t believe everything he says, your Grace.”

“But my father crowned Lyanna Stark, didn’t he?”

“He did,” Ser Barristan confirmed. “And I am sure he loved his Lady Lyanna, but that doesn’t mean he disliked your mother, your Grace. On the contrary, they were fond of each other. I have never seen them fight in my presence, but then they spent most of their time at Dragonstone.”

“Does it matter?” Dany asked and pondered whether she should tell Aegon about her vision of Lyanna Stark and her babe. Judging by Aegon’s sour look she decided now was not the right moment. “We shall avenge them anyway.”

“We shall,” Aegon said and in the same moment she felt a cool breeze touching her neck. “And it seems the gods have heard our prayers! The winds have returned!”

Dany laughed and so did the men at the oars.

Then, she brushed the sweat from her brow.

“I think I need some shade,” she told Aegon and rose to her feet. Doreah, who had been playing some game in company of Irri and Jhiqui had attempted to rise as well, but she had stopped midway when Dany had waved her hand at her. “I am feeling tired.”

Aegon was quick to offer his arm and Dany didn’t refuse him this time.

_Let him play the courteous Prince_, she thought in amusement. _Soon we will all have to face our ghosts._

Aegon led her back to her chamber and helped her sit down on the carpet covered with cushions and a silken bedding.

It was her sleeping place and one could see that the dragon had left their mark here. Some of the cushions were torn and showed black scorch marks.

“Tell me,” she said and patted on the cushion beside her. “What have you and Lord Connington been speaking about all morn?”

“Mostly about the Golden Company and how much coin we will need,” Aegon replied. “And how we will deal with your brother. I hope my relatives will keep him in check.”

Dany laughed. “Viserys is hard to keep in check. Well, you will not come around, but to give him some sort of position.”

“And what position could I give to him?” Aegon asked.

Dany pondered over it for a moment. “My brother is good at posing. You will find some place for him.”

“I shall,” Aegon replied. “But that is not the only thing that troubles me. First, we must take the Seven Kingdoms. And as you said earlier…Rhaenys could indeed pose an obstacle for us.”

Dany realized then that he wasn’t as strong as he claimed.

Smiling, she leaned forward and squeezed his hand.

“I am sure all will be well, but then I survived a burning pyre and birthed dragons back into the world.”

“I suppose,” Aegon replied. “But it is not going to be easy, even if we have all of Dorne on our side and even with your dragons…I wish they were bigger.”

“So do we all,” Dany replied. “But they will grow in time and they will show the people of Westeros that House Targaryen is not dead. Surely, that counts for something?”

“Sure,” Aegon replied. “And while the Usurper is dead and gone, his son rules after him. The Lannisters have more gold than anyone in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Gold is no use against dragonfire,” Dany jested. “But you are right. It will not be easy.”

Aegon rose back to his feet and looked around. Again this strange silence spread between them.

“Nothing is ever easy,” he said and was about to leave, but Dany called after him.

“I thank you,” she said and exhaled deeply. “For helping me.”

Aegon shrugged his shoulders.

“It was nothing and without Quaithe I would have never found you.”

…


	41. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

Rhaenys sighed happily, as she lowered herself into the scalding water. It had been weeks ago, that she had last been able to wash herself properly.

Yet, the hot water was not enough to wash away the memories of her encounter with these Lannister men. Truth be told, it had not been her first encounter with unwanted attention, but in King’s Landing there had always a member of the Kingsguard close. Not that Robert Baratheon had ever cared about her wellbeing. No, to him she had only been a valuable hostage necessary to keep the Dornish at bay.

Well, he was dead now. It was what he deserved, but it gave her no satisfaction. No, the only thing that would give her a certain amount of peace would be to see Tywin Lannister’s head.

_May my brother return soon_, she replied. _And rid us of the Lannister pest._

“Do you have need of a brush?” a soft voice made her turn her head. It belonged to Jeyne Heddle, the new owner of the Inn at the Crossroads. She sat across Rhaenys, her dark wet hair sticking to her thin face. “I am done with my hair.”

Rhaenys smiled. “I thank you. A brush would be appreciated.”

The girl smiled warmly and handed her the brush, a coarse thing, but just right for Rhaenys’ unruly hair.

Rhaenys untangled the knots in her hair while Jeyne watched her in silence. Jon had not told the archer about her identity, but she was sure it was only a matter of time until they would find out.

Smiling, Rhaenys searched for the girl’s face.

“Do I have something in may face?”

The girl blushed. “No, nothing, my lady. I am just surprised that Jon Snow has chosen a lady as yourself as his companion.”

Rhaenys was confused by the girl’s answer. “I do not quite understand. A lady as myself?”

Jeyne looked as if she wanted to dive back into the water.

“I mean a girl who…you know…served the high lords in such a manner.”

Rhaenys felt like a fool. Of course, the girl thought her a whore.

“Still, but I do not see what all this has to do with Jon Snow’s taste in women,” Rhaenys replied. “Why would he not seek my company? Because of my Dornish looks perhaps? Or because I am not pretty enough?”

Jeyne Heddle didn’t take her answer well. She looked like a frightened bird.

Rhaenys was also startled by her own reaction. Why did she even care whether Jon Snow would take up with someone like her?

“I apologize,” Jeyne said in obvious embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to insult you, but the first time I met Jon Snow he was very opposed to sleeping with…ladies like yourself.”

Rhaenys felt a surge of anger inside her chest. “And how would you know that?”

“I know, because…,” she stuttered. “Because I took his maidenhead.”

Rhaenys felt suddenly like a complete fool. Not only because she had asked such an inappropriate question, but also because she hadn’t seen that the girl was interested in Jon Snow.

And why shouldn’t she? His long face made him look a little morose at times, but he had all his teeth and a pleasant character.

It was then, that a terrible realization washed over her.

Was the cause of her displeasure jealousy? She couldn’t say, for her mind was suddenly a storm of confusion.

She realized it was wrong to speak to the girl in such a manner when she had shown her nothing but kindness.

“I apologize,” Rhaenys replied. “I am not angry with you. In fact, I appreciate your honesty.”

Jeyne looked startled. “You do? Well, I certainly didn’t tell you all of this to insult you. I just wondered…that is all.”

Rhaenys pursed her lips and leaned closer. “Perhaps, you should stop wondering so much, my Lady Heddle.”

Jeyne chuckled nervously. “Perhaps, you are right. And I wish you all happiness with Jon Snow. I have already someone in mind.”

Rhaenys felt the urge to ask who it was, but then she decided otherwise. She hardly knew this girl. She had no business to pry into her life.

“Good for you,” Rhaenys replied and climbed out of the water. The wooden ground beneath felt cold, but all her woes were forgotten when she pulled her dress back over her shoulders.

Her hair was still a little wet, but it wasn’t like she was planning to make a walk in the countryside.

Instead she returned to her chambers where she found Arya sitting before the open window and playing with her dagger. She had said not much since she had killed the man, but that was no surprise. She was still half a child and she had seen more cruelty than most noble girls her age. Jon Snow had been even more disturbed by his sister’s actions and had not left her out of sight for the entire night.

Not even the promise of ale and another warm meal in company of the archer and his companions had been able to convince him otherwise.

Thus, Rhaenys had shared their company for the entire night and hoped that she had played her role well enough.

She had told them tales about Dorne, a place she only knew form books and she had told them how she had met Jon and how they had fled the city. The archer and his companions had bought it.

The Brotherhood without Banners they called themselves and their leader was a certain Lord Beric Dondarrion.

Rhaenys remembered him well. He had partaken in tourneys, but that didn’t make him anymore trustworthy in her eyes.

“You may take a bath now,” Rhaenys told Arya. “Jeyne is still in there, but there is enough space for a little girl.”

Arya shook her head. “I am not in the mood to take a bath.”

Rhaenys laughed. “I understand that, but I am sure your lady mother will be displeased if you come all dirty back to her to Riverrun and it will take a long time before we can have such a proper bath again.”

Arya didn’t look as if Rhaenys’ arguments had convinced her. “Very well, but only because even Jon said I stink.”

Arya’s reply amused Rhaenys, but she couldn’t help but to feel anxious when she thought about meeting Lord Beric and the rest of this Brotherhood.

Nor did she know what would happen after the meeting.

_There is no time to for this_, she told herself and went to put on the fresh clothing Jeyne had laid out for her.

It was a simple dress made of rough wool and kept in a dark blue colour. The black buttons looked as if they were new, but the skirt had been worked on a good dozen of times. Then, followed the grey stockings and her dark cloak.

She was about to braid her hair when Jon returned.

His dark hair was in disarray and his cheek still bruised from the fight with the Lannister men. He smiled when he noticed her presence.

“Lord Beric announced his coming tonight,” he said and looked around. “Where is Arya?”

“Taking a bath,” Rhaenys replied. “Jeyne is with her.”

Jon nodded his head and drew closer. He placed his sword near his bed and sat down.

“I ought to take a bath myself,” he remarked and brushed his hand over his face. “And my hair needs cutting.”

“Well, I cannot help you with your bath, but I could cut your hair,” Rhaenys offered. “All I need is something sharp. Your dagger perhaps?”

Jon looked sceptical. “I am not sure…” he trailed. He sounded almost afraid.

“Are you afraid?”

“Me,” he said in obvious displeasure. “Of course not.”

“Stop playing the child and come here.”

Jon nodded his head and handed her his dagger.

Rhaenys unsheathed the blade and brushed her hands through his soft hair.

It was neither black nor brown, but something in between, like Rhaenys’ own hair at times. In winter it appeared much darker than in summer. It was the same with her skin. In King’s Landing she had often been locked up and her skin had been rather pale for someone of Dornish descent, but now that she had spent weeks on the road it had changed back to what she assumed was a healthy Dornish pallor.

As promised she was careful as she cut his shoulder-length hair by a few inches each, but that didn’t keep Jon Snow from squirming before her like an unruly child.

“Hold still,” she told him when she was working at the last bit. “Or it is going to be an uneven cut.”

“Understood,” he replied and tensed again. “Just be careful.”

Rhaenys had never thought Jon Snow could be so vain.

“It is done,” she declared at last and sheathed the dagger. “I think it looks well.”

Jon turned around and brushed his hand through his hair.

“It is certainly more pleasant to touch,” he replied and smiled a little. “I thank you.”

“And I thank you,” Rhaenys replied. “For what you did…”

“For what I tried to do,” he replied unhappily and brushed his hand over his swollen cheek. “They would have killed us if the men of the Brotherhood hadn’t come to help them.”

“Perhaps,” Rhaenys replied. “But it was still brave. You couldn’t even know how good your enemy would be…and he was so big. You would have won.”

Jon Snow blushed and shrugged his shoulders. “It was nothing…and now I will leave you to prepare for supper. Beric will want to talk to us.”

She nodded her head in understanding. “Will we tell him?”

Jon Snow nodded his head. “I am sure he will know you. He must have seen you at King’s Landing.”

Rhaenys shuddered at his answer and went to prepare for the upcoming meeting.

When she entered the common room, the trestle tables were filled with men of all kinds of appearances. By their garb and way of demeanour she could tell that many of them were peasants and not trained soldiers. Probably survivors of the war that had ravaged the Riverlands over the last.

The though helped to ease her fears and when she was finally brought before the leader of the Brotherhood without Banners.

Lord Beric was a slight man with golden hair. His cloak was easy to catch, as it was made of black satin and decorated with stars. His breastplate was even more impressive to look upon, displaying a forked purple lightning bolt.

With him was a man, Rhaenys knew well: Thoros of Myr, a red priest that had often been guest at Robert’s court. The king had found him an amusing person, but the ladies who valued the faith had always kept their distance from him.

There were many more men that sat at his table, among them the man with the piss-coloured cloak, who called himself Lem. There was also the archer, who was also a gifted minstrel, for he was currently playing up a song for Lady Jeyne and the children.

Yet, above all, this odd young boy stood out to Rhaenys.

He couldn’t be older than ten or elven. His hair was pale like her father’s had been and his eyes a dark violet colour. He blushed when she looked at him and quickly shifted his attention to the cup in front of him.

It was then, that Lord Beric spoke and waved his hand at the men at his table. Rhaenys recognized the man by his face, but didn’t know his name. He had once served Lord Stark, who had sent him off to bring the Mountain to justice.

Jon Snow smiled when he noticed him. Arya smiled as well, but her smile was much more subdued.

“It is good to see you, my boy,” the man said and touched Jon Snow’s cheek. Then, he smiled at Arya and dipped his head in reverence. “And you, my lady. We thought you imprisoned in King’s Landing.”

“We were imprisoned,” Arya replied. “But we fled during the battle.”

“Sounds like a rather daring tale,” Lord Beric Dondarrion said in a rattling and distant voice. “Would you mind telling me more about it?”

“No,” Jon replied and nodded his head when one of the men moved aside to make place for them to sit across Lord Beric. Rhaenys and Arya were afforded the same courtesy and soon enough they also received wooden plates filled with scrambled eggs, bread and a cup of wine. The smell was heavenly, but Rhaenys felt discomfort settle low in her stomach when she noticed how the men were suddenly staring at her. “But it is not a very exciting tale. We fled the city in a company of mummers. They left us not long ago and then we reached the Inn at the Crossrads where we met these Lannister men.”

“You were quite the fool to fight them,” Lord Beric remarked. “Polliver is a dangerous man, if not as dangerous as his lord…the Mountain.”

Rhaenys shuddered at the mention of this monster. All desire for food left here right there. She hadn’t even known that he was this close.

“He tried to protect me,” Rhaenys added after she had exhaled deeply. “That is all.”

“I am well aware,” Lord Beric replied and eyed her more closely. His eyes were black and empty. He looked more like a corpse than a human being. “Princess Rhaenys.”

Rhaenys tried her best to hide her surprise and smiled. “It is strange to hear my name from your lips. I do not think we ever spoke to each other in King’s Landing.”

“You did not,” Lord Beric replied. “You were always silent like a mouse. Robert must have scared you into silence.”

Rhaenys nodded her head and noticed then that the squire was staring at her again.

“King Robert did not like it when I spoke to his courtiers,” Rhaenys replied and smiled at the boy. “And you? Do I know you as well?”

The boy smiled shyly, his cheeks pink. “I Lord Edric Dayne…the Lord of Starfall. I am Lord Beric’s squire and I don’t think we have ever met.”

Rhaenys understood now why the boy had been staring at her. He was from Dorne…her mother’s homeland. She wanted to ask him a thousand questions, but she knew now was not the right moment.

“Edric is too shy to speak to girls,” Lem jested. “Look how he is blushing.”

The boy muttered something to himself and the men laughed.

Lord Beric seemed unimpressed. He sat still like a statue carved from stone.

“You have come a long way, Princess Rhaenys,” he said. “And the Lannisters would pay a good price for you. You will need protection to travel to Riverrun.”

Rhaenys met the man’s empty gaze. “Meaning?”

“That I will help you,” Lord Beric replied and looked over to Jon. “To go back to Riverrun. Of course, we hope that by bringing your sister and you back into the arms of your brother, King Robb, we will receive some sort of ransom. It was after all your father who founded our brotherhood, but without coin and support we cannot survive.”

Jon nodded his head in acknowledgement. “I am sure Robb will be thankful for your help and will show himself generous. However, I cannot make any promises on my brother’s behalf. You must speak with him yourself.”

“I shall,” Lord Beric replied. “And now you should eat and prepare yourself for your return. The tidings that will await you there will not be kind.”

Jon opened his mouth in confusion, but Lord Beric had already risen to his feet and a heartbeat later he was gone.

“What was he talking about?” Arya asked her father’s men. His name was Harwin or so Rhaenys had heard. “What tidings?”

Harwin smiled tensely.

“I think we should wait…,” he began, but Jon was insistent.

“Tell me,” he demanded. “What happened? I do not like to be left in the dark…Is it about Robb?”

“Your brother and king is well,” Harwin replied. “But your brothers…I am surprised you haven’t heard the tidings from Winterfell.”

“We avoided making inquiries,” Rhaenys explained. “We feared to arouse attention and kept away from villages while the mummers were performing.”

“Understandable,” Harwin said and lifted his cup to his lips. His hand was trembling and his eyes were fixed on the cup in front of him rather than on Jon Snow. “But it would make it easier for me.”

He sucked in a deep breath and exhaled deeply. “To make it short…Winterfell has been taken.”

Jon Snow froze at once, recognition washing over his long pale face.

“No…no.”

He averted his gaze and looked first at Arya and then at Rhaenys.

“They say Theon Greyjoy betrayed our king and sacked Winterfell…I think you can imagine the rest, my boy.”

Jon Snow nodded his head, his eyes wet with tears. Arya was very pale and bit her lips.

“I think I do,” he said and left, Arya following after him like a shadow. “I do.”

Rhaenys didn’t follow, for she didn’t even know what she could tell him.

She had always been alone. Her heart had numbed against such losses. Or at least that is what she wanted to believe.

“You should give them some time,” Harwin told her.

Rhaenys nodded her head. “I understand.”

“Here,” someone chirped and when she lifted her head she saw Edric Dayne offering her a cup of wine. “Do you care for a cup?”

Rhaenys laughed and took the cup from his hands.

She took a zip from the wine. The taste was sweet and bitter at once. A strange combination or perhaps just a reflection of her feelings.

It was sweet that she was finally free, but there was a bitter taste in her mouth whenever she thought of her future.

She was sure that Robb Stark would expect something in return for keeping her safe.

In the worst case he would keep her as a hostage and in the best case he would allow her to go home to Dorne.

Well, everything was better than to be with the Lannisters.

“The wine is good,” Rhaenys thanked the boy and smiled at him again. She knew it was inappropriate to charm such a young boy, but she wanted to hear about her home. “Do you care for a dance, Lord Edric?”

Edric blushed like a young maid before her bridegroom.

“I fear…I fear I am not a good dancer.”

“Neither am I,” Rhaenys replied and rose to her feet. She held out her hand to him. “But I am anxious from all the sitting and your minstrel is a capable singer.”

“As you wish,” Edric replied and took her hand. “But only one dance.”

“Only one dance,” Rhaenys promised and led he boy away from the table. “And a handful if you don’t mind.”

The boy smiled knowingly. “I thought so much.”

“Tell me,” she said as they tried to move to the song. “Why were you staring at me? You are a bit too young to know my mother.”

“My Aunt knew her,” Edric explained. “Lady Ashara Dayne. She was her Lady-in-waiting.”

“I see,” Rhaenys said. “But I heard she passed away…you look too young to have known her as well.”

Edric shook his head. “Well, she is still alive. The news of her death were meant to disguise her disappearance.”

“How so?” Rhaenys asked in confusion. “Why would she do that?”

“That is a rather complicated tale,” Edric replied. “Even I don’t know everything.”

Rhaenys sighed. “Very well, but at least tell me…Are you familiar with my kin?”

Edric shook his head. “Not really. I spent most of my childhood in Starfall and a handful of years ago my Aunt was betrothed to Lord Beric. That is how I came into his service and ever since I haven’t seen my home. Besides, your uncle does not like House Dayne very much. He blamed us for complying with your father.”

“How so?” Rhaenys asked. “Because your uncle was loyal to my father?”

“This, above all,” Edric replied. “But because we gave him and his Lady love a place to hide.”

Rhaenys felt stupid for not recalling the tales she had heard how Lady Lyanna Stark had perished in some tower in Dorne.

She just hadn’t been aware that this tower had belonged to House Dayne.

“I thank you for telling me,” she replied. “And for the dance, my lord Dayne.”

The boy blushed and lifted her hand to his lips. He kissed it lightly and Rhaenys went back to the table to take her leave from the men.

She felt exhausted and her head was pounding. Her belly was also empty, but she felt no need for food when she thought about Jon Snow’s brothers.

They had been young children.

They hadn’t deserved such a fate.

And it painted her to see Jon Snow suffer…and Arya too.

Perhaps she had been wrong after all. Perhaps she had a heart after all.

When she entered their chamber, they found Arya sleeping, her dagger clutched to her chest.

She was surprised by this. She had expected that Jon Snow would stay with his sister.

She went downstairs to look for him, but only when she passed Jeyne, did she find an answer to her search.

“Jon seems _very_ upset,” she said. “He is out…by the river.”

“The Rubyford?” Rhaenys guessed.

“The Rubyford,” Jeyne replied and waved her hand at Rhaenys. “Go…I shall have a look at the girl.”

Rhaenys pulled on her cloak and went out to the night. It was chilly, but it didn’t take long until she found Jon Snow.

He was just where Rhaenys had expected him to be, though it made her wonder why he would go there…where her father had perished by the hands of the usurper.

When heard the sound of her footsteps, he turned around, his face unreadable as ever.

“You shouldn’t have come…it is dangerous.”

“And you shouldn’t just run off. Arya will worry about you.”

“Theon,” he said in a trembling voice. “He was a vain fool, but I never took him for a turncloak. It is strange…Sometimes, I thought Robb loved Theon more than me. He was much more fun than me.”

Rhaenys didn’t know what to say. She was surprised that he told her about his pain at all.

Exhaling deeply, she sat down beside him in the wet grass.

She touched his shoulder and looked out at the starry surface of the river.

“My father died here…” she trailed off. “I am surprised Robert Baratheon didn’t put up a statue. Whenever I was in his presence he would never shut up about his grand victory. Most of the time he was drunk, but a king has fallen low when he has to brag in front a child how he killed her father.”

Her words showed effect. Jon Snow almost smiled.

“You are being ridiculous…” he said and touched her hand. “Now is not the time for such jesting.”

“Why not?” she asked. “Isn’t that really the only thing we can do? Laugh at the injustice in this world.”

Jon Snow dropped his hand. “Well, it is better than crying.”

“Everything is _better_ than crying,” Rhaenys replied and took his hand once more. She smiled, a warm flame burning low in her stomach at his close proximity. “Revenge is even _sweeter_.”

She also realized only now how close Jon Snow was, his warm breath brushing her cheek. It had not been the first time she had found herself in this position, but it was only known that she felt the urge to do something about it: to kiss Jon Snow’s sorrowful lips.

“Revenge can be _bitter_ too,” Jon replied almost softly and leaning into her touch. “King Robert is the best example. He got his revenge but ended up _bitter_ and a drunken fool.”

Rhaenys didn’t know if she wanted to kiss or chide him for his reply, but she didn’t want to waste another thought on Robert Baratheon. “No revenge then, but I know something _sweet_ to ease your grief.”

Jon had said nothing, his eyes widening in confusion. Before Rhaenys could answer she pressed her lips unto his. They were cold, but soft and Jon Snow froze upon her touch.

Rhaenys knew it had been a mistake and was about to pull away, but to her surprise Jon grabbed for her arm and pulled her closer, pressing his lips tighter against hers. It felt as if a wave of heat washed over her setting her insides aflame. Their lips touched once more, properly this time. Rhaenys gasped when her lips parted, but when it was getting _sweeter_, Jon recoiled from her and touched his lips, as if he had committed some grave sin.

“I need to sleep,” he told her in a flustered tone. “And to look after Arya.”

…


	42. Jon

**Jon**

Jon stopped his horse when he noticed the great hill looming in the distance.

By dusk they arrived at the top, making camp where no harm would come to them. Arya, Beric’s squire Edric and Rhaenys went to gather wood before they watched the last sunlight disappear behind the horizon.

A storm was also brewing in the east. It smelled of rain, but here beneath the thick crown of the weirdwood they felt nothing of it.

Only the wind bothered him at times, but it was not worse than a snowstorm. To ward of the chill, Jon moved closer to the fire and held his hands over the flames. Thoros of Myr sat across him, gazing deep into the flames. It was not the first time.

“What are you doing?” Jon asked out of pure boredom.

“Sometimes I can see things,” Thoros told him. “The past, the future. Things happening far away.”

Jon took a glimpse at the flames, but felt nothing but heat touching his skin. “I see nothing.”

“You are not a believer,” Thoros pointed out. “The lord of light does not grant visions to non-believers.”

“Perhaps,” Jon replied. “But there are others who claim they have visions. How did a man like you end up in Westeros?”

Thoros shrugged his shoulders. “It is a tale just like any other. I was born the youngest of eight and sent off to serve in the temple. So I learned their prayers and spoke their spells, but I was not a very holy priest. Well, I supposed I was more bother than I was worth, so they sent me to King’s Landing to bring the Lord of Light to the Seven Kingdoms. King Aerys had loved it so much, I nearly thought I had converted him. Well, in the end he preferred his pyromancers.”

“And how did you end up serving King Robert?” Jon inquired further.

“He was fond of me. The first time I rode with my flaming sword, Kevan Lannister’s horse reared and threw him from its back. His Grace laughed to hard I thought he might burst.”

“Fire consumes,” Beric added in a strange tone. “It consumes and leaves nothing. Nothing.”

“My friend,” Thoros replied and touched the other man’s arm. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing I have not said before,” Beric said and shook his head. “Six times are simple too much.”

Jon didn’t know what to make of his answer and as he turned his head the wind grew only stronger. When he heard the rustling of the leaves he realized that Rhaenys, Arya and the squire had returned.

They looked tired as they sat down around the fire. Arya spoke little since the incident at the Inn at the Crossroads and Rhaenys was avoiding Jon at every turn. Well, Jon was doing the same, but it was hard to think about matters of the heart when he had so many other things to worry about.

It wasn’t like he had disliked their kiss, but she was a Princess and he was a Bastard. Not to mention, Robb would think very low of him if he bedded a Princess.

No, it had been the right thing to stop.

“Jon,” Rhaenys called out to him. “Jon.”

Jon lifted his head and found Rhaenys staring at him through the curling flames. “What is it?”

“Something to eat,” Rhaenys replied and offered him an apple. “We found them down the hill. Well, Ned did. They might be a little brown, though.”

Jon smiled and took the apple. He took a bite and grimaced at the sour taste.

In this moment, a cold wind washed over the hill. The chill made Jon’s hair stand at the back of his neck.

And when he turned around, his heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw _this_ strange woman.

She was not taller than three feet, her eyes crimson and her tattered hair pale like snow.

She did not speak to him and went straight to Beric and Thoros. They spoke in hushed voices, as she sat down before the fire.

“I see, The Ember and his Grace the Lords of Corpses have come to honour me.”

Beric grimaced. “Do not use that name.”

“You have the stink of death on you,” the woman replied. Her mouth was empty, safe for a single tooth. “Give me wine to warm me or I shall leave. My bones ache when the winds blow.”

“A cup of wine for you, my lady,” Thoros offered her his skin. “And a silver stag if you have some tidings for us.”

“I cannot eat a silver stag,” the woman complained. “Give me wine and a song from Tom o’ Sevens.”

“You will have your song,” Beric promised. “Tom will do it.”

The woman laughed and drank deeply from the skin. “Sweet wine you gave me and sweet tidings you shall have. The dragons shall soon return and the lions will burn.”

Rhaenys was staring at the woman with wide eyes. “The dragons?”

“The dragon has _three_ heads,” the woman replied. “I once gave this prophecy to the Silver Prince and before him I gave it to his grandfather, dear child. _A promised prince shall bring the dawn_.”

Rhaenys seemed shocked by the woman’s words. She breathed out the next words. “You knew my father?”

“Aye,” the woman replied and took another sip. “He often came to me, to ask for council. The last time, he came with the she-wolf.”

This roused Jon’s suspicion. “A she-wolf? Was she perhaps called Lyanna?”

Jon froze when the woman’s crimson eyes met his. “I am too old to remember such names. At times, I forget my own name. But the girl-child you spoke of was indeed of the wolfblood of Winterfell. I liked her. She brought me food and told me tales from the Kings of Winter. The Silver Prince and she stayed here for days, sleeping beneath the roots of the weirwood.”

Jon didn’t believe his ears. “That is impossible, woman. They say he raped her!”

The woman laughed, her white hair billowing in the wind. “I am too old to remember the woes of love, but the Silver Prince loved the she-wolf. He made her a bed of leaves and bound grass into her hair. He played songs for her day and night. At times, they made me weep and at other times they made my heart sing with joy. I was sad to see them go to their death.”

“You knew,” Rhaenys snapped. “You knew they would die? Why did you not tell them!”

The woman shrugged her shoulders. “The future is never certain, dear child. And the Silver Prince never asked.”

Rhaenys didn’t seem consoled by the woman’s answer and stormed away. Jon followed her after telling Arya to stay put.

“Don’t follow me!” she snapped at him. “Don’t follow me!”

“Why?” Jon asked and drew closer. “Why do you even believe this mad woman?”

Rhaenys glared at him. “You still believe the usurper’s lies about my father, don’t you?”

Jon didn’t know what to think. This woman might have just made up a tale. “I don’t know…But I know this: it would be better if you ignored her words. Do not torture yourself with the past. It is no use.”

“No use,” Rhaenys replied and pulled her arm away when he attempted to touch her. She looked at him for a long time.

“Perhaps…,” she was about to continue, but suddenly a song as sweet as honey rang through the cold night.

When the song was done, Rhaenys left him without another word spilling from her lips, tears shining in her dark eyes. Jon had known the song: Jenny of Oldstones.

The next day it was raining all day and Jon was glad when they arrived an abandoned village nearby. Arya looked feverish and Rhaenys didn’t look any better, though he believed it was more due to their past experience than the cold.

They rode through the woods and fields, streams flooding the road ahead.

Eventually, they reached the village and found shelter in an old house with a burned-out roof. Even so, it was quite cosy on the first floor and soon they were seated around a fire in the hearth, some half-naked as they were trying to dry their clothing. Jon felt the urge to cover Arya’s eyes, but she seemed unbothered by it, snuggling close to him. Rhaenys seemed happier to be near the fire and hadn’t spoken much since their departure from the High Heart.

“Here, good Ser,” Edric Dayne offered Jon the wineskin. “Do you care for wine?”

It was the first time he had dared to speak to Jon.

He seemed a little on the shy side, but good-natured.

“Thank you,” Jon refused. “But I have no need for wine.”

When he noticed the boy’s disappointed expression, Jon forced a smile over his lips.

“Do you want something from me?”

The boy smiled shyly. “Actually I am…Well, we…we are milk brothers.”

Jon frowned. “What are you trying to say?”

Ned Dayne blushed. “Lady Wylla, my nursemaid…she nursed you as well, which makes us milk brothers.”

Jon somehow he ended up pulling on the boy’s cloak, as if he feared he could escape at any moment.

“Wylla?”

Edric nodded his head in confirmation. “Did Lord Stark never told you about your mother? She has served us for years and years. Since before I was born.”

“No way,” Arya said and gaped at the boy. “Don’t lie to Jon, or I will punch your face.”

The boy didn’t seem afraid and placed his hand on his chest. “I swear it on the honour of House Dayne.”

Jon couldn’t believe his ears. His mother might be alive and her name was Wylla.

“Is she alive?” Jon asked Edric.

Edric Dayne nodded his head. “Alive and well. She is wed to one of our household knights and has a good dozen of children.”

The answer felt like a plunge into his heart.

_Of course, she has a family. Why would she care about a bastard like him? _

Perhaps that was also the reason Lord Eddard was forced take him to Winterfell. His mother hadn’t wanted him.

_Curse her_, Jon thought. _Curse her._

_I have no need for a mother._

“Good Ser,” Edric Dayne’s soft voice caused him to lift his head. “Are you well?”

“No,” Jon replied and shook his head. From the distance, he noticed that Rhaenys was staring at him. She made no attempt to get closer, though. “I am very tired. Would you leave me now? We could continue our conversation on the morrow.”

Edric Dayne lowered his head and smiled. “As you wish.”

Jon was a wolf that night. He was running through the dark woods, his eyes ever-seeing. The rabbit was dead a heartbeat later, his sharp teeth digging deep into his soft flesh. The taste of iron was still heavy on his lips when he woke from his slumber.

Jon looked around and noticed that everyone was asleep, safe for the men keeping watch.

Exhaling deeply, he rose to his feet and picked up his sword. The cool air touching his cheek felt pleasant, but a rustling sound attracted his attention, causing him to turn around.

At first, Jon heard only more rustling, his hand resting on his blade, as he watched the large shadow emerge.

Yet, his hand dropped immediately when he saw a pair of crimson eyes staring back at him.

Ghost was back.

…


	43. Tyrion

**Tyrion**

Tyrion dreamed of green fire and the smell of blood filled his nose. Even in his dreams the air was full of smoke and the sound of groaning man rang in his ears. At times, he would move and open his eyes, only to realized that he had pissed himself. He had wept too. His father would be ashamed of him. He was dwarf, but also a lion of Casterly Rock.

Yet, the pain was almost unbearable at times. At times, he thought he was dead, but then he was dreaming again. Once he dreamed he was a raven, soaring over the city, laughing at these foolish humans below. At other times, he was rat, being trampled on by wooden shoes. He also dreamed of wolves, all grey and with blood teeth.

Sometimes, he also dreamed of the dead. Tysha was always among them, watching him hatefully. He had also seen Shae, baring her tits to another man. This dream had filled him with jealousy, but then the pain had become unbearable again and he had fallen asleep again.

The smell of the dead was much worse. It was a sweet smell common to a puss-filled wound. It made him want to vomit out the stew his invisible caretaker tried to put into his mouth.

Why had they fought? He had almost forgotten, but then the memory came back to him all tone once, overwhelming him, like a knife cutting deep into the skin and bringing forth a cry of pain.

He felt half dead, but yet he was not among them. He was alive. The pain was the proof.

And it was with this final realization that he woke from his long and painful slumber.

As he looked around he found only darkness. He could see nothing, but the vague outlines of a bed or the door that was cast in the golden light from beyond. The drapes were drawn together and beneath his broken body he felt the softness of a featherbed.

As he moved, he felt the weakness in his bones, hidden as his body was beneath a heap of blankets and furs. He was sweating as well, probably caused by a fever. And when he lifted his hand he felt a sharp pain surging through his body.

His head felt even worse. Swollen and too heavy to bear.

His memories were just as blurred. The last thing he recalled was Ser Mandon Moore, his hand reaching for his sword, the green fire making his polished armour glint. Then, there was only darkness…

Too weak, he fell asleep again. At times, he believed Cersei was there to mock him, her crimson lips pulled up in a smile. This time, he also saw Jaime, though he was still far away, imprisoned by Robb Stark.

Many more faces passed before him in the shadows of his sickbed. There was his lord father, haughty and proud as ever. Littlefinger, ever-smiling and of course Varys, spreading his smell of flowers everywhere he went.

Next time, he was woken by too bright light. Slowly, he opened his eyes and realized it was Podrick Payne. When Tyrion tried to speak to him, the boy ran off.

Not long after, Pod returned. A Maester was with him, garbed in grey robes and a chain dangling from his neck.

“My lord,” he said. “You must rest. You are not out of danger. There is still the risk of inflammation.”

“Are you thirsty my lord?” Pod asked friendly.

Tyrion nodded his head, unable to speak. The Maester helped him to drink from a cup of water. Tyrion swallowed hard, but the longed for more, but by the next moment he was already asleep again.

This time he dreamed he was back in the Eyrie. The ugly mongrel in the sky cells was mocking him. Jon Snow was also there, his pale face grim and pale. Lady Stark was beside him, her beautiful face a grimace of anger. Next followed Ned Stark, blood dribbling from his neck like a river of crimson. They were all watching him, whispering to him, accusing him.

Tyrion recoiled from their touch and woke screaming.

Again, he found his room filled with darkness. He looked around, his breathing ragged. His face hurt, his body hurt and his legs hurt. He lifted his arm again, a stab of pain surging through his body again.

_What had happened_, he wondered not for the first time. _Have we won?_

Clenching his teeth against the pain, he pulled himself up. The world twisted and changed. Shadows danced and as he looked around he realized that this was not his chamber. This was not the Tower of the Hand. They had moved him.

He noticed the Maester’s presence, his face cast in shadows as he leaned over Tyrion and touched his face.

“You want the bandages removed, don’t you, my lord?” he asked. “That wouldn’t be wise.”

Tyrion growled at him, his clenched fist a representation of his anger.

Finally, the man complied.

“I shall do as you command.”

When the man was done Tyrion was still reeling from the pain. The man had washed his wounds after pulling off the cloth, causing him pain comparable to flames feasting upon his naked flesh. His fingers had clawed the bedding, nearly tearing it out in one quick rush. Somehow he was still alive.

Then, Tyrion had sent the Maester away to find a looking glass.

When Tyrion saw his face, he wished he had never asked. The gash was long and crooked, starting a hair under his left eye and ending on the right side of his jaw. Three-quarters of his nose were gone and even a chunk of his lip. He could see that the Maester had tried to sew his torn flesh together, but the stiches were still red and clear to see.

“How pretty I look.”

_The work of my sweet sister and done by one of her henchmen, Ser Mandon Moore. She must have paid you handsomely. _

Tyrion laughed then and shifted his attention back to Maester. “Where am I? How much time has passed?”

“You are in Maegor’s Holdfast, my lord. Lord Tywin wanted to keep you close.”

“I see,” Tyrion replied in disbelief. “Speaking of my lord father. Where is he? Shouldn’t he be in the Riverlands?”

“He saved us. He came to defeat the enemy at our gates. And now he is with the King,” the Maester explained. “Do you want me to inform him of your waking?”

It was the first useful thing the man had said since Tyrion had woken from his slumber. “Then, please do so, good Maester.”

When the man had gone, he rolled to the side to regain his strength. He woke again at the sound of the door.

“Who?” he asked and turned around. His voice was still raw from speaking, but his fever had weakened. He must have fallen asleep while waiting.

The bright candlelight blinded him momentarily and then he heard the chortling voice of a man. “Cut yourself while shaving, didn’t you?”

“Indeed,” Tyrion replied, but couldn’t return Bronn’s smile. He feared his face might fall off. “With a very fearful razor.”

“I asked for my father and you are the only one to return,” Tyrion added. “A pleasant surprise.”

Bronn smiled. His dark hair was freshly washed and he was dress in high black boots, a belt studded with iron and a dark green cloak.

“Your father is busy,” Bronn replied. “I suppose you haven’t heard.”

“Heard what?” Tyrion asked curiously. “No one tells me anything and I do not dare to ask in fear I might betray my secrets.”

“Much,” Bronn replied and sat down at the edge of the bed. He brushed his hair out of his face with one hand and placed the candle upon the wooden table with the others.”I think I should start with the bad tidings?”

“Bad tidings first,” Tyrion agreed and nodded his head in confirmation. “Then, the good ones.”

“Well, bad is that your friend, Ser Jon, his sister Arya Stark and the Princess Rhaenys fled the capital,” Bronn replied. “And good is, though I think only you will think of it as good…your sister is dead, most likely murdered by your Stark bastard.”

Tyrion blinked once, twice and a third time. He didn’t believe his ears.

“Are you jesting?”

“No,” the sellsword replied and laughed. “Not at all. It is all true. The bastard was seen going to her chamber…It seems he was keeping her bad warm in the last weeks. Never thought the boy capable of a feat like that. Perhaps it is true what they say…bastards are good at hiding their wickedness.”

Tyrion knew his sister. Perhaps she had tried to seduce Jon to get to him. That was the only possible explanation.

Not that it mattered. If Jon had escaped in company of Arya Stark and Princess Rhaenys, his father is going to blame Tyrion for it.

“What about my brother, Jaime?” Tyrion asked. “Is he still a hostage?”

Bronn nodded his head in confirmation. “They say he tried to escape, but Royce’s men caught him.”

These were bad tidings for his brother, but good tidings for Tyrion. With Cersei gone and Jaime imprisoned, his lord father would still have need of him.

It was not much, but better than nothing.

“It saddens me deeply that I couldn’t be there to see my sister buried,” Tyrion feigned sadness. “Was it already announced?”

“Not long ago,” Bronn replied. “Officially, she died in childbirth, bearing King Robert’s last heir, who perished shortly after. It is all a ruse, of course.”

“Of course,” Tyrion replied with a knowing smile. “My lord father is always looking out to protect our family’s reputation. I wonder what he thought of Jon Snow keeping Cersei’s warm. Was he shocked?”

Bronn laughed. “Your lord father is not the kind of men who consorts with the like of me. Well, he gave me the knighthood you promised me. And gold. The saying is true…a Lannister always pays his debts.”

“Not that it matters,” Tyrion replied. “My father will blame it all on me. Now tell me, how many of the White Cloaks are still left to us?”

“Well, Ser Mandon died in battle,” Bronn replied. “And the Hound ran off. Couldn’t take the fire.”

That was a true relief.

“And who commands the gold cloaks now?” Tyrion inquired further.

“A man named Addam Marbrand.”

A shrewd coice. Like his brother, he was the kind of man people would follow.

.”What about Stannis?” Tyrion asked further, his head already reeling with pain again. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Bronn replied. “His Lyseni kept their galleys out in the bay, beyond your chain. When the battle turned bad, they fled. A grim sight.”

“What of Robb Stark?” Tyrion asked. “I know that he still has my brother, but little else.”

“They say he sent out men to burn their way towards Duskendale and your father sent out the Mountain to sort them out.”

“Well, that sounds reassuring,” Tyrion quipped and smiled at Bronn. “What about you? Will you stay now after everyone seems to desert me one after another?”

“Perhaps,” Bronn replied. “If the pay is good.”

“What about my father? What is he doing these days?”

Bronn shrugged his shoulders. “Rumours has it that he has been trying to broker an allegiance with the Tyrells, but nothing has come of it so far. Mace Tyrell sent his son, though. What was he named again? Garlan or Loras? I forgot.”

“Is it the older or the younger?” Tyrion asked curiously. It must sting that the Tyrells hadn’t chosen their side, though Tyrion wondered what they were plotting. He doubted they would side with Robb Stark, but there was also the threat of the pretender hanging over their heads. _Aegon Targaryen._

And with Princess Rhaenys gone he might be even be more motivated to attack.

“I must speak to my father,” he said at once and patted Bronn’s shoulder. “And ask Pod to come here. I need fresh garb to dress myself so I can leave this bloody cell behind me.”

With this command, Tyrion had dismissed Bronn from his chambers. Washed and dressed, he went to seek out his lord father.

He also had another cup of wine to ease the pain, but it was no use. Tyrion had to use a stick with one hand and had to lean on Pod’s shoulder with the other. One of the page boys nearly stumbled over his feet when he saw Tyrion in passing, only confirming what he knew.

_Now I look truly like a monster._

_Will Shae even recognize me?_

“Tyrion,” his father said calmly upon his entrance. “You are awake?”

“I am pleased that you remember me, my lord,” Tyrion replied and waddled towards the table.

Pod closed the door behind them.

The chill could be felt everywhere when his father’s green eyes met his across the table.

Anger stirred inside his heart when he saw the golden chain around his lord father’s neck.

His chain.

“You should sit down. You look sick.”

“I am sick of my bed,” Tyrion replied and sat down. “And I think you will have need of my help.”

“Your help?” his father asked.

“My help,” Tyrion confirmed.

His father shook his head, his mouth a firm line. “I think you have done enough, Tyrion.”

“Have I?” he asked bitterly. “Well, I know how it is. You are blaming me for Cersei’s death, aren’t you?”

“You are well-informed,” Tywin replied. He had heard no sadness in his voice. His father either had a heart of stone or he was just trying to hide his sadness. “And I do blame you. You brought this boy into our service.”

Tyrion chuckled. “With your approval!”

“You were responsible to watch him,” his father countered. “Do not try to put the blame on me. Your sister is dead due to your incompetence.”

Tyrion grabbed the table and clenched his teeth. “Cersei is dead, because she could not keep her legs together and wanted to get to me. She probably thought the bastard would tell her some secrets about me. No, father, Cersei’s death is her own doing…and let’s be honest about it. She was always a whore.”

His father glared at him. “Be careful what you say. She was your queen.”

“Queen of the whores, then,” Tyrion replied, feeling the urge to hurt his father even more. “Or do you think Stannis made up these colourful tales of Jaime and Cersei?”

His father clenched his teeth. “Vile lies. As for Stannis…he is defeated. He ran away like a dog.”

“The truth,” Tyrion insisted. He was tired of lying. “Joffrey is not King Robert’s son…and neither are Tommen and Myrcella. It is no lie, for even I have seen Cersei sneak into Jaime’s room when we were children. Do not be blind father. Cersei and Jaime might not be dwarfs, but I am the only one you can trust, no matter how much you hate it.”

"Enough of this nonsense,” his father silenced him. “What do you want?”

“I want to be of use,” Tyrion replied. “I want to be a Lannister.”

“You are a Lannister,” his father replied angrily. “And nobody denies the part you played in saving this city.”

“The part I played?” Tyrion asked in disbelief. “I _saved_ this city!”

“Well, most feel that my arrival turned the battle,” his father replied. “Not that is matters to me. I am not a monkey like you, asking for praise when you were merely doing what was expected of you. Now tell me, what do you _want_?”

“I told you,” Tyrion replied. “I want to be a Lannister. Cersei is dead and Jaime a man of the Kingsguard. Give me a wife and the title I deserve…I want Casterly Rock.”

Lord Tywin's eyes were a pale green colour flecked with gold, as luminous as they were merciless.

"Casterly Rock," he declared coldly. "Never."

The answer stung and Tyrion felt the need to speak his mind.

“Why not?”

His father snorted. “You, who killed your mother when you came into this world? You are a devious, spiteful little creature and full of envy, lust and cunning. You may bear my name, but you will never be my heir and turn Casterly Rock into a whorehouse.”

Strangely, Tyrion couldn’t help but to laugh and leaned back in his chair. He clapped his hands together as he looked at his father.

He was beyond politeness. “I have good company then, don’t I? My sweet sister who opened her legs to every man in the castle, including Lancel and Eddard Stark’s bastard and if it is the truth, her own brother. And Jaime, your brave and strong Jaime, who will most likely die a miserable death by Robb Stark’s hands.”

When Tyrion climbed from his chair, the world was spinning wildly, yet courage burning in his chest stronger than ever.

“And there is still your ghost,” Tyrion said. “Aegon Targaryen. Do you think the boy will sit idle when hears that his sister is no longer your hostage?”

“The way I see it,” Tyrion continued. “You need me more than ever.”

“The boy is a pretender,” his father replied. “I made sure that Rhaegar’s son wouldn’t make it out of the Red Keep. It must be some sort of ruse of the Dornish. Which makes it all the more important to win the Tyrells to our side.”

“There is an easy solution for our problem, father,” Tyrion added, though he didn’t want to say it. It was too cruel. “We must rid ourselves of the Stark girl.”

“Do not council me,” his father said matter-of-factly. “ I am well aware, but I shan’t kill the girl. She is far too useful alive. Once her child is born I shall sent her to the motherhouse. Her child will be kept a secret and should Joffrey not be able to father a son on the Tyrell girl, I can still make use of a boy child in the future.”

Tyrion should have known better than to question his father.

“And now I bid you to leave me,” his father replied. “I have work to do. As for making yourself useful…I shall find a task for you.”

…


	44. Catelyn

**Catelyn**

Cat watched, as a good dozen of unwashed men entered the great hall of Riverrun. Silence fell across the torchlit hall and Greywind made a loud growl as their leader came to present himself.

Lord Beric was his name, the Lord of Blackhaven. Cat had never met him, but there was something strange about the way he moved. At his side, was a pale-haired boy clad in violet-and-white finery.

_His squire_, Cat guessed and gasped when she noticed the presence a familiar face among the crowd. _The brotherhood without banners._

It was Harwin, the former stablemaster. Harwin gave her a quiet nod in passing, acknowledging her presence, but all happiness left her when she laid eyes on Jon Snow, her husband’s bastard.

She had known he would come back, but didn’t know what to think of it. Yet, she didn’t have much time to ponder over the matter when she looked upon the young boy clinging to Jon’s arm.

Cat had thought him a mere squire, but when she looked at his long pale face, her heart nearly stopped.

It was Arya.

Robb, who sat in the high seat beside Cat, was the first one to acknowledge her presence. Cat sat there frozen at her daughter’s sudden re-appearance. 

_Where is Sansa_, she thought fearfully and realized that she was not with Jon Snow, who was giving her one of his sullen looks. No, but someone else was there beside him, a familiar face Cat hadn’t seen since the King’s visit to Winterfell: Princess Rhaenys Targaryen.

“Arya!” Robb exclaimed and interrupted her thoughts. Her son’s pale face was filled with joy, as he pulled Arya into his arms. Beside him was his bride, Lady Jeyne, the Queen in the North. She was watching Robb happily, but Cat couldn’t say the same about her mother. The lady was seat at one of the lower trestle tables, her daughter and son beside her. Cat didn’t trust them, but Robb had made them their allies through his marriage. “You are alive! I don’t believe it!”

Arya returned his laugh. Then, she touched his beard.

“You have a beard!”

“And you look like a boy!” Robb exclaimed, as he touched Arya’s dishevelled hair.

“I was posing as Jon’s squire,” Arya explained proudly, as her dark grey eyes flickered back to Jon Snow and the Princess Rhaenys. “That’s how we escaped.”

“I am sure you were a good squire,” Robb replied and turned his attention to Jon Snow. No, Ser Jon, she reminded herself. Ser Roderik had made him a knight. “And I am thankful Jon brought you back.”

Robb embraced Jon Snow quickly and eyed his garb. “I hear you are a knight now?”

“Ser Roderik knighted me,” Jon Snow informed Robb with a warm smile. “So much is true.”

“And you brought another guest,” Robb added politely and dipped his head at the Princess Rhaenys. “Welcome, Princess, but I am surprised you are _here_.”

“I am pleased to be here,” Princess Rhaenys replied politely and dropped a quick curtsy. “Your brother was kind enough to help me.”

“And the brotherhood without banners escorted you here?” Robb asked Lord Beric.

“That is so,” Lord Beric confirmed. “We found them and brought them here, but not out of pure kindness. I think you understand, your Grace.”

“Of course,” Robb replied and nodded his head in understanding. “But not tonight. I am sure there will be enough time to speak on the morrow.”

“That is fine by me,” Lord Beric replied. “It thank you, your grace.”

“My steward shall take care of you and your men, my lord,” Edmure added his voice. He looked like a young boy, who seemed very excited to speak to Lord Beric. “Perhaps we could speak about your brotherhood over a cup of wine?”

Lord Beric nodded his head in acknowledgement. “If you wish, my lord.”

With these words, the hall had emptied and the unwashed men of the brotherhood left to mix with the men of the Vale and the men of the North. She had no doubt the Smalljon and Greatjon would call for another drinking feast like when word of Cersei Lannister’s death had reached them a week turn ago.

Cat hadn’t known what to think of the Queen’s death in childbirth. She had been a proud woman, but it seemed even someone as proud as Cersei Lannister could fall to woes of the birthing bed. That she had supposedly lost her babe made it all the more gruesome.

The fact, that Sansa was still a hostage, made it all the worse. No, Cat couldn’t allow herself such dark thoughts.

“You look well,” she told Arya, as she touched her cheeks and placed a kiss on her brow. “What do you think of a proper bath and meal? You look rather thin, Arya.”

Arya smiled, but there was still some sort of distance between them. It looked as if she expected Cat to send her back to her needlework.

“A meal would be good,” Arya confirmed. “I am starving. Will Jon come too?”

“Jon and I have much to speak about,” Robb replied and smiled at Arya. “In the meantime, you will have time to get to know your good-sister.”

Arya’s dark eyes widened in understanding as they darted to Jeyne. “You are wed to Robb?”

Jeyne smiled warmly. “Indeed. Does that bother you?”

Arya shook her head and graced Jeyne with a crooked smile. “Of course not. I was just surprised.”

When they had left, they retreated to Edmure’s solar, the Lord of Riverrun.

Olyvar Frey was lingering at the door, always read to fetch something or someone. He had always been shy, but these days he could be called almost sullen. Cat believed to know why. He was not happy about Robb’s bride. Her son had claimed that he had wed Jeyne out of duty, but Cat believed different. The girl was no stunning beauty like Cersei Lannister, but she was very sweet and kind. Even Cat found herself liking her the more she spent time with her, but that didn’t mean she approved of her son’s actions.

_He broke a vow. Just as I betrayed him. All for love._

“I am glad you are back, Jon,” Robb repeated his earlier sentiment and smiled again. He had been sporting a mild fever in the morn, but when had heard about Jon’s coming he had left bed immediately. “And Arya being here…I cannot believe it. Still, may I ask how you escaped?”

“And Sansa,” Catelyn added hopefully, as she searched Jon Snow’s face. In the past she would have never spoken to him this freely, but she had no other choice. He had proven himself to Robb by bringing Arya back. She would have to accept the bastard even if she didn’t like his presence here. “Is she at least alive?”

Jon Snow looked startled. It was probably the first time Cat had addressed him in front of Robb.

“She was sent away to Casterly Rock,” Jon Snow explained. “For her own safety. She is with child.”

Robb paled when heard this. Edmure grimaced and Catelyn was relieved. That meant they would at least not kill her until the child was born.

“I cannot believe that Sansa will have Joff’s child,” Robb said and brushed his hands over his face. “It is unbelievable.”

“Well, they are wed, your grace,” said Princess Rhaenys. There was something cold and distant in her bearing. “And she was quite willing until your father was killed by Joffrey. She was the one to betray your father’s plans to the queen.”

“Watch what you are saying…,” Edmure began, but Cat waved her hand at her brother. She had expected so much. “Brother.”

“And you, Princess,” Catelyn inquired politely. “What convinced you to come here?”

“I no longer wanted to be a hostage,” replied Rhaenys Targaryen. “What other reason could there be, my lady?”

“There is more, though,” Jon Snow replied and exhaled deeply. “We only escaped because we had a helping hand.”

“A helping hand?” Robb asked. “Who?”

“Lord Varys,” Princess Rhaenys explained and looked over to Jon Snow. “It seems he was also the one who saved my brother’s life.”

“Your brother,” Edmure said. “So it is true? Prince Aegon lives.”

“King Aegon,” Rhaenys corrected her brother and searched Robb’s gaze. “The sixth of his name. Even your father refused to participate in killing him when the King wanted to send assassins after him. That is also the reason why Lord Varys helped us. He hoped you might support my brother’s cause should he return to Westeros to fight for _his _crown.”

Silence fell over them. Robb didn’t look pleased. “I understand your sentiment, Princess Rhaenys, but I cannot simply bend the knee. My men would question my sanity.”

Rhaenys Targaryen didn’t appear surprised. “Do you know a better King to rule over the Seven Kingdoms? Or do you intend to take the crown for yourself? If so, you are certainly more ambitious than your father.”

“I have no intention to take the Iron Throne,” Robb replied. “As you know, the realm is torn. The Lannisters still hold King’s Landing and the Westerlands, Stannis has retreated back to Dragonstone and I suppose he still has the Stormlords at his side, your mother’s family will probably declare for your brother, I have the North, he Riverlands and Lord Yohn Royce, but even that would not be enough to defeat the Lannisters and the Tyrells.”

“The Tyrells have declared for the Lannisters?” Princess Rhaenys asked in disbelief. It was no surprise, for they had formerly been Targaryen loyalist. “Are you sure?”

Robb shrugged his shoulders. “Nothing is sure, but we know that they are in contact. My mother saw Lord Petyr Baelish in Bitterbridge and it is well-known that he serves the Lannisters.”

“Which means it is even more important to unite behind one claimant,” argued Princess Rhaenys. “I admit, I do not know my brother, but perhaps you could allow me to travel to Dorne…I am sure my Uncle has long contacted his nephew. I could act as your emissary and arrange a meeting between you and my brother, nothing more and nothing less.”

“Time I do not have, my lady,” Robb replied. “We have news of Tywin raising one host in the Westerlands and another in the Crownlands. The only good thing is that Roose Bolton has been able to take Harrenhall.”

“And if the Tyrells join hands with the Lannisters we will have even more problems to worry about,” Edmure added. “An allegiance with Dorne shows little promise, Princess. Tell me, how many spears can Dorne give us?”

Rhaenys Daenerys shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“See,” Robb added. “But that that doesn’t mean I am not willing to meet with your brother if he really decides to return to Westeros. Well, in the meantime, I would prefer for you to remain here. You are our honoured guest.”

_Hostage_, Cat knew better. _Should King Aegon Targaryen turn his eyes to the North._

Princess Rhaenys seemed to understand the implications of Robb’s words well enough.

“I think I must excuse myself,” she replied rather abruptly and rose to her feet. She made no curtsy and glared at Robb. “I am exhausted.”

“I promised her she would be able to go home,” Jon Snow explained rather soft-spoken, a dangerous realization washing over Cat. _Could it be that the Jon Snow has grown fond of the girl? _“I thought you would understand her feelings.”

“She is a Targaryen,” Robb reminded him. “I cannot allow her to leave when she could help us to keep her brother in check.”

“So I assume you intend to _remain _King, Robb?” Jon Snow asked. “And thus ruining all your hopes of making an ally?”

Robb’s gaze darkened, his hand trembling as he held unto the table. “Are you saying I should support _this_ Targaryen?”

“No,” Jon Snow said. “Only after you have met with him. Also consider this…he may be a Targaryen, but he was a babe at his mother’s breast when the Rebellion was fought. He also lost many loved ones to his grandfather’s madness and the Lannisters. Aerys is long dead, but the way I see it, we have a _common _enemy in the Lannisters.”

“You could say the same about Stannis,” Robb pointed out. “What would you say if I bent the knee to him?”

“That it would drive the Tyrells to the Lannisters,” Jon Snow countered. “I have only spent a handful of moons in King’s Landing, but I heard of discord between House Tyrell and House Florent. I also don’t think you will side with him for a far _simpler_ reason…he is too weak.”

“So much is true,” Cat added. “But supporting a Targaryen? It is _utter_ madness.”

“Why?” Jon asked. “Plus, it would bring Dorne to our fold. Four Kingdoms, enough to face any enemy in our path.”

“Four?” Robb asked.

“The Vale,” Jon Snow said. “It could be the fourth. Royce is with you, isn’t he?”

“Aye,” Robb replied. “But Lysa holds the Vale and her son is betrothed to the Princess Myrcella. She will not surrender the Vale and it is impossible to take it. You know so much, Jon.”

“And Ser Jaime?” Jon asked. “You have him, don’t you?”

“Aye,” Robb replied hesitatingly. “But he is not in a good state. Lord Karstark decided to seek justice and fled like a coward. I declared him an outlaw and stripped him of his title, but I doubt that will mean much to him.”

“You did what you could,” Edmure added and eyed Jon Snow critically. “I never thought the son of Eddard Stark would defend a Targaryen.”

“Is that all you can see in _her_, my lord? ” Jon Snow asked angrily. “I might be wrong, but half your father’s bannermen fought for them during the Rebellion. There must have been something good about them if they had so many loyal subjects. Well, I do not think I am a friend of the Targaryens, but I am practical and I would prefer Princess Rhaenys’ brother over any Lannister and Baratheon. What have they ever done for _us_?”

“Robert Baratheon was Ned’s friend,” Cat agreed hesitatingly. “And their friendship wasn’t enough to protect your father. I agree with Jon Snow in this matter…Let us speak with Doran Martell. And if you do not wish for Princess Rhaenys to leave, I would gladly go to Dorne and make myself useful.”

Everyone stared at her in disbelief.

You also want me to bend the knee, mother?” Robb asked unhappily.

“I want peace,” Cat answered. “And I want Sansa back. The Targaryens were my father’s enemies, but if the boy is reasonable and good, I see not why he cannot rule. The Tyrells might be swayed by a Targaryen King if he receives enough support from us. Not only that, but by making this new King depended on your help, you would have a more favourable position for future negotiations.”

Robb frowned and leaned forward. His brow was covered with sweat and his eyes appeared feverish.

“It still would mean to give up the crown,” he said and rubbed his temples. “My men will not be pleased.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I will leave the choice to you: Do you want Robb to die (no Red Wedding though...there are other ways) and Jon to be King or Robb to remain King? I was planning for both and cannot quite decide. Also, I think I will only be able to update again this story next weekend, because I have two exams coming up and while I can certainly write an hour (It is basically like a break for me to clear my mind) or so it takes me a lot of time to edit the chapters and I rather use it for studying. 
> 
> Next chapter will be Aegon in Dorne and regarding the Tyrells: Do you want a POV? All I can say about them is that they are playing a game. Well, I could also write it from Tyrion's persepctive.


	45. Aegon

**Aegon**

The heat of Dorne felt almost pleasant compared to the heat of Volantis. Everything felt different here. Dorne smelled of the sea and spices while Volantis had often smelled like a dirty whore.

Sunspear was also prettier to look upon. It was a walled settlement, protected by three massive Winding Walls, encircling one another and containing hidden courts, bazaars and gardens. Aegon knew his mother’s home only from Lady Ashara’s tales, but when he closed his eyes he could almost imagine its beauty. So far, he could only see the two large towers kissing the blue sky above.

The largest of them looked like a slender spear, nearly a hundred feet high.

_The Spear Tower_, Aegon recalled, but there was another domed tower. _The Tower oft he Sun._

And despite all these familiar sights, this city didn’t feel like home. The people greeting him were just as foreign to him, though he believed to see some resemblance to the mother he had seen in a vision in the House of the Undying.

„Welcome in Dorne,“ a young woman greeted them at the gates. She was accompanied by men carrying spears and clad in the colours of his mother’s house: red, orange and yellow. Their helmets and spears glittered in the sunlight like the sunset, but the young woman was an even more pleasant sight to behold. She was buxom and beautiful, with olive skin, large dark eyes and long, thick black hair that fell in ringlets down her slender shoulders. Her full lips were even fuller than her form, crimson and ripe like a fresh fruit. Her loose gown of yellow and gold and her naked neck and shoulders covered with silver jewels didn’t leave much to Aegon’s imagination.

He swallowed hard and it took all his his concentration not to look at her nipples visible through her thin gown.

_Mother have mercy_, he thought and his gaze fell back on his small entourage. _Mother have mercy__._

There was Lord Connington, who was finer dressed than usual. He wore a red cloak made of silk and embblished around the neck was with a fox fur. He had even shaved off his beard and wore the new sword Magister Illyrio had gifted him. Forming the rear, was Aegon’s Kingsguard, lead by Ser Rolly Duckfield. Most of these men had once belonged to the Golden Company, but now they had donned crimson cloaks and looked almost like trueborn knights. Ser Barristan stood out among them, the only man with a white cloak. At last, there was Daenerys, holding unto his arm and eying Dorne’s court with wide eyes.

She was also the first one to speak.

„You must be Princess Arianne,“ Daenerys said and smiled tensely, when she saw her brother Viserys emerge from the crowd. „My brother’s bride.“

Viserys had also changed his attire and wore robes of black-and-red. He almost smiled when he looked at Daenerys, but grimaced when he shifted his attention back to Aegon.

It was Daenerys‘ pull on his arm that called Aegon back to the presence.

„Of course,“ Aegon said and smiled nervously. „You are my cousin?“

Aegon knew he had said something stupid when everyone started to whisper and giggle. It made him feel like a foolish boy.

„What I am trying to say,“ he said and smiled again, trying to overplay his insecurity. „You may call me cousin or just Aegon.“

“She is also _my _wife,” Viserys added firmly. “We were wed several moons ago. We were waiting for you. What kept you for so long and were is the Golden Company?”

“We had matters to attend to, dear brother,” Daenerys explained paitently. She didn’t look as hesitant. On the contrary, she seemed very confident these days. Perhaps it were the dragons or perhaps it was just the fact that she was finally home. Her black dress made her also look older and the silver crown resting atop her head gave her the appearance of a queen. The fact, that she was still keeping her distance to Aegon only added to his insecurity. “We also have a pleasant surprise for you, but all in good time.”

Princess Arianne smiled and curled her arm around his uncle’s arm. Whether Viserys was pleased about it or not, Aegon couldn’t tell, but then he couldn’t say that knew his uncle. “I love surprises, but first you must meet everyone.”

Aegon forced another smile over his lips. “Please lead the way, dear cousin.”

As it turned out, his Uncle Doran showed little resemblance to his daughter. He was a lord in his early fifties and was seated in a wheeled chair. His lower body was covered with long robes, probably meant to hide his swollen feet, but the gout was still quite visibly on his hands curled around the golden handle of his chair. Only their eyes were similiar: bright golden eyes that reminded him of running honey.

The man looming beside him must be his Uncle Prince Oberyn Martell. Unlike his elder brother and niece, he was tall and slender and looked very fit. Only his lined and saturnine face and the thin grey strands in his otherwise dark hair betrayed his age. His eyes were also different from the rest of his family, black like the night, like the poison of a viper.

Neither of them smiled. They simply watched them. One with his mother’s eyes and the other one with the eyes of a viper.

Aegon’s throat felt suddenly as dry as the Red Waste. He had never been shy with words, but in that moment his tongue failed him once more.

“You have much of your father,” his Uncle Doran said at last. He had said in an almost sorrowful tone. “Silver hair and purple eyes…a true Targaryen.”

Aegon didn’t know what to make of this. Was it a bad thing that he had the coloring of a Targaryne? Was he supposed to be sad about it?

He didn’t understand.

“Aegon is my brother’s heir,” Daenerys added carefully. “That is why it shouldn’t be a surprise if he takes after my beloved brother.”

“Your beloved brother,” Prince Oberyn said. “Took a whore to bed and shamed my sister.”

Dany paled, her violet eyes glinting with obvious displeasure. “I have heard about it, but that doesn’t change the fact that he was my brother and that I wish I could have known him. I also didn‘t think a man who prides himself on having fathered seven baseborn children would chide my brother for taking another woman to bed.”

“Most importantly, he was _my_ father,” Aegon added his voice. “I admit, I do not know much about him, but what Ser Barristan told me about him does not paint him as a cruel man. He wasn’t passionate about my mother, but if that is a crime then there would be few good men left in this world. My father’s mistake was not that he didn’t love my mother, but that he left her in my grandfather’s grasp.“

“You also said that he took a whore to bed,” Daenerys added tensely. “Are you referring to Lyanna Stark?”

“Who else?” his Uncle Oberyn asked and feigned surprise. “Everyone believes her raped, but that was just a lie Robert Baratheon told everyone to justify his usurpation.“

“Lady Ashara told me about it,” Daenerys replied. “She said that Lady Lyanna loved my brother.”

“Ser Barristan said something similiar,” Aegon added, as his Uncle’s eyes met his met across the room. “He said that my father loved his Lady Lyanna, whatever that means. Yet, there is something I want to make clear. I did not come here back to drown the Seven Kingdoms in blood. I am here to bring back peace. As for my father…I do not care what he did or didn’t do. He is dead and gone. Only the future counts for me now.”

“Well spoken,” his Uncle Doran said. “We should look to the future, but that won’t be easy. The Lannisters still hold King’s Landing. They are weakened by their battle against Stannis Baratheon, but that doesn’t mean it will be easy to defeat them.”

“Does anyone know about my _arrival_ here?” Aegon asked and noticed that Jon Connington was watching him intently. “Do you think we are in danger?”

“Not yet,” his Uncle Doran replied. “But it is only a matter of time, dear nephew. Tywin has spies of his own that do not depend on Lord Varys’ help. Even so, I think the old lion’s gaze is looking elsewhere these days…Robb Stark, who is still in open rebellion against the crown. He holds the North and the Riverlands.“

“What about Lord Stannis?” Aegon asked, intentionally giving the man the title he deserved. “Does he live?”

“According to Lord Varys and my own spies he fled when the battle turned against him,” his Uncle Doran explained. “ Some say his fleet has abandoned Dragonstone, but I wonder why he would do such a thing. He has nowhere else to go.”

“Yet, there are also good tidings. They say your sister, Princess Rhaenys has fled from King’s Landing in company of Eddard Stark’s bastard and has murdered Queen Cersei.”

Aegon stared back at his Uncle in silence. And when he looked over to Daenerys she seemed to share his feeling of shock.

“Lord Eddard Stark‘s bastard?” Daenerys asked in confusion. “Why would my niece trust someone like that?”

“Who knows,” his Uncle Doran said and shrugged his shoulders. “We only know that she has fled from King’s Landing. Oberyn intends to search for her, but he wanted to wait to meet you first.”

Aegon didn’t know what to think. His sister was finally free after all these years, but she had also disappeared in company of Eddard Stark’s bastard?

It sounded all so bizarre.

“And my sister killed Robert Baratheon’s queen?” Aegon asked in disbelief.

“That is not quite clear,” his Uncle Oberyn said. “Not that it matters. The woman must have tortured her for years. I feel no pity for her after she opened her legs to Robert Baratheon. Her family profited the most of your mother’s death.“

“That may be,” Aegon agreed. “But why would my sister trust Eddard Stark’s bastard? Has Lord Varys told you anything about that?”

“No,” Uncle Doran said. “I suppose you will have to ask Lord Varys yourself. He also says he dares not to leave the capital and that we should wait for Lord Tywin’s next step.“

Waiting and watching was the last thing Aegon wanted to do, but Lord Varys was not wrong. They had to wait for the right moment or all would be lost.

“What about my family’s allies,” Daenerys said. “I was told House Tyrell was once fiercely loyal to House Targaryen. Where does the Reach stand in this matter?”

“No one knows,” his Uncle Oberyn said. “But the Fat Flower only cares about power. If Joffrey Baratheon wasn’t wed to Eddard Stark’s little wolf pup, I am sure he would be parading Margaery Tyrell through King’s Landing.”

“Which makes it even more important to appeal to his goodwill,” Daenerys pointed out. “Before the Lannisters convince them otherwise.”

“A good idea,” his Uncle Doran agreed. “But you are the very reason it will not be easy to convince them. They will expect a crown.”

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Rhaenys.


	46. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

Rhaenys watched the coming and going of the Maester and the page boys like a clockwork. It was a familiar occupation, for when she had still been a hostage in King’s Landing, she had often diverted her time by watching the servants go about their daily business.

Here in Riverrun it was similar, but her need to divert herself had a different reason. Two nights ago, Robb Stark had fallen sick with a sudden bout of fever.

Rhaenys had noticed that Robb Stark was unnaturally pale when she had last laid eyes on him, but she hadn’t expected that he would fall ill.

The fever must be bad if he was asleep for two days, but no one told her anything. Jon hadn’t even made any attempt enter his brother’s chamber either.

Instead he spent his day training swordplay in company of the guards or with Arya, who had been the only one to see Robb Stark for a moment. She had been very upset, but Jon Snow was in a worse state.

Sighing, Rhaenys shifted her attention back to her letter. If Robb Stark was still asleep, she could not leave Riverrun and thus she at least wanted to send a raven to Sunspear, a task that was easier said than done. She had read much about her home in books, but she had never met her family and had no idea what to write. Sure, she could write about politics, but that would give the wrong impression.

“You are still writing your letter,” Lord Edmure remarked upon his entrance. He was neither tall nor small, red-haired like most Tullys and comely enough. He was also a high lord, a good match, certainly better than Joff, but Rhaenys felt only discomfort in his presence. She knew what he was thinking about whenever he looked at her.

_A Princess that could keep my bed warm. What a pleasant idea._

Yet, Rhaenys didn’t want to marry him nor did she want to stay in Riverrun. No, she wanted to go to Dorne, to see her family, to speak to her brother and find out the truth.

“Princess,” Lord Edmure repeated, which forced Rhaenys to acknowledge his presence. “Yes, my lord?”

“You are still writing your letter,” he remarked again, as if he didn’t know anything else to speak about. “You have been sitting here for hours.”

Rhaenys sighed and rose to her feet. He was not at all in the mood to speak to the him.

“You are quite right, my lord. I think I shall seek out Jon and Arya.”

“You are quite familiar with the boy?” Lord Edmure asked, which caused Rhaenys to stop in her tracks.

The way he had addressed Jon bothered her. Either he was called the bastard, Ned Stark’s boy or Snow. No one ever called him by his proper title.

“His name is Ser Jon,” Rhaenys said. “And I have travelled with him for weeks, my lord. I supposed that means I am familiar enough with him to call him by his given name. He is pleasant company as well if he is not brooding about his sick brother or dead siblings, but perhaps you can understand that kind of feeling, given that you lost your father not long ago.”

“I didn’t mean to insult him,” Edmure Tully replied and rubbed his neck. “I do not dislike him, but my sister…Lord Stark didn’t do the boy any favour when he allowed him to grow up in Winterfell.”

“Ser Jon,” Rhaenys corrected him again. “And I think I am the last person you should ask when it comes to bastards. My Uncle has six or seven of them and they are known to live with their trueborn kin. Truth be told, I have never seen Dorne, but I understand how it is to be treated as an outsider. I was a Princess only in name in King’s Landing.”

Then, she had left Lord Edmure and went to seek out Jon. Given how Lady Stark and Lod Edmure were tiptoeing around him, she was surprised he had received a guest chamber, but then that had probably been Robb Stark’s command. Rhaenys chamber was of course far away from his, but then she was determined enough of seeking him out if the situation demanded it.

In truth, she had hoped he would seek her out himself, but Rhaenys was getting impatient. Perhaps he needed comfort or just a kind word.

It was not like she intended to kiss him again, but she hoped to understand why he was so afraid of her.

Jon Snow was oiling his sword when she entered his chamber.

There were dark rings beneath his eyes. She hadn’t seen him weep, but she was sure that he was simply fearing for his brother.

“Did something happen?” he asked and immediately jumped to his feet. He looked like a rabbit in front of a wolf…or a wolf before a dragon. “Is Robb well?”

“I do not know,” Rhaenys replied. “But I am sure someone would have told you if something bad had happened.”

Jon Snow sighed and sat back down on the chair placed against the wall. The shutters were open, a cool breeze entering the room.

His wolf was not here, but that was no surprise. He had grown wild and incredibly big during his time in the wilderness. Every morn, he went to see that he was fed.

“You ought to see your brother, though,” Rhaenys urged him. “You should speak to Lady Stark about it.”

“I rather not,” Jon Snow replied stubbornly.

Rhaenys sighed. Sometimes, he was worse than a mule.

“Why not? Are you afraid?”

“No,” Jon replied. “But I don’t want any quarrels.”

“So, you just want to ignore the issue until it disappears?” Rhaenys asked. “ What if your brother dies?”

Jon Snow’s head had snapped up faster than a whip. “How would my presence change anything?”

Rhaenys sighed again. “I could never say goodbye to my mother.”

Jon Snow’s eyes widened, and he averted his gaze in shame. “I won’t say goodbye, because Robb is not going to die.”

“But he is still your brother and needs your comfort,” Rhaenys added and drew closer, placing her hands on his shoulder. He flinched, but didn’t pull away, his dark eyes shining with tears. “And Lady Stark has no right to keep you from him.”

“She has every right to hate me,” Jon replied, but Rhaenys shook her head, finally realizing why Jon Snow was suddenly so different. When it came to Lady Stark he was not snarky boy from King’s Landing. “She lost her children while I am still alive. My presence must be painful for her.”

“Painful or not,” Rhaenys told him and cradled his face between her hands. “Your feelings are also important. I think Robb would agree with me.”

“Perhaps,” Jon replied and gently brushed her hand away. “But this is her home and I am just a guest.”

“You are not wrong,” Rhaenys replied and leaned closer, his warm breath brushing over her lips. “But that doesn’t make it right. You seem to have this ridiculous idea that being a bastard makes you somehow unworthy of good things. That’s also why you are treating me like this.”

Jon’s long face grew incredibly long. “It was not proper.”

Rhaenys lucked her tongue and shook her head in disbelief. “That is your answer? It was not proper! Did you dislike it so much?”

Jon frowned again. “Of course not, but you are a Princess…and I am…you know.”

“A knight,” Rhaenys reminded him and leaned closer again. “A knight that helped me.”

Jon Snow simply stared back at her in confusion before she pressed her lips against his, ever so softly.

He hesitated at first, but then he returned the kiss. Jon Snow was about to lift his hand to touch her shoulder when the door opened with a rattling sound.

Within the blink of a moment, Rhaenys had jumped away from Jon.

When Rhaenys looked to the door, she found Arya Stark standing there.

She wore breeches and her riding boots. She must have sneaked away with Edric Dayne, searching for her direwolf.

“Arya,” Jon said in a trembling voice. “How is Lord Dayne?”

“Well,” Arya said and shrugged her shoulders. “What about it?”

Rhaenys tried to get Jon’s attention, but he ignored her and rose to his feet, making his way towards the door.

“I was just wondering about it,” Jon replied and looked briefly at her. Rhaenys had the feeling that he was embarrassed, but there were no signs to be found on his unreadable face. “I am going to look at Ghost. Do you want to come with me?”

Surprisingly, Arya Stark refused.

“I am exhausted. I will stay here.”

Jon nodded his head and left a heartbeat later.

Arya’s grey eyes watched Rhaenys’ both confusion and displeasure.

“What is going on between you two?” the girl asked rather bluntly.

Rhaenys felt her cheeks burn. It made her feel like a young girl.

“Nothing.”

Arya Stark narrowed her grey eyes in disbelief. “Didn’t look like it to me.”

Rhaenys sighed. “I don’t know. It is difficult.”

Arya furrowed her brows. “That is what grown-ups always say when they don’t want to talk about something. I am just a girl, but I do not want to see my brother get hurt. Is that understood?”

Rhaenys was taken back by that threat, but then she also realized that Arya Stark was a young girl who had lost half her family.

“I would never do that,” Rhaenys promised. “In fact, I have been trying to help your brother, but he remains stubborn as ever. I tried to convince him to seek out Robb.”

“That is a lost cause,” Arya explained. “He will not go there when mother is present.”

“I see,” Rhaenys replied, a sudden realization blooming in her mind. She wanted to smack herself for going about it this way. “But surely your mother goes to sleep at times?”

Arya’s grey eyes widened and her lips twisted upards. “Aye…Jeyne usually watches over Robb during the night.”

Rhaenys smiled knowingly. “Well, I think that is something we can work with. I think I have a plan.”

Arya nodded her head in understanding. “I am all ears.”

After supper, Rhaenys went to seek out Jon once more. As expected, she found him with Ghost.

Greywind was also there and looked as distraught as Jon and the rest of the inhabitants of the castle.

Rhaenys knew she ought to be afraid of the wolves, but she was not. She was fascinated by them.

Ghost seemed to share the feeling, for he was never aggressive towards her. Whenever she was close, he came and licked her hands or rubbed his head against her shoulder.

She did not understand much about wolves, but she supposed that meant he liked her or at least did not think her a threat. Her cat Balerion used to do the same when she was a little girl.

“Are you not hungry?” Rhaenys asked him. “It’s long past supper.”

Jon lifted his head and brushed his untidy hair out of his face. “I feel no need for food when my brother is sick.”

Rheanys sighed. “Well, your body might disagree. Everyone needs food to live.”

“Perhaps,” Jon replied. “But I prefer to stay here and watch Ghost.”

Rhaenys rolled her eyes in frustration. How could someone be so stubborn?

“What if there was a way to see Robb without offending Lady Stark?”

Jon gave her a curious look.

“Are you a wizard or something?”

“No,” Rhaenys replied and graced him without a smile. “But even Lady Stark needs to sleep. And while she might not like your presence, Lady Jeyne has no reason to dislike you. She would not be offended if Arya brought you.”

Jon’s lips twisted upwards. “It is worth a try.”

Rhaenys returned his smile and offered her hand to him. “But first you should eat something.”

Jon sucked in a deep breath but took her hand to pull himself back to his feet. “Are you my mother?”

“No,” Rhaenys replied. “But I like to think we are at least friends, even though you are not interested in more.”

Jon Snow quickly pulled his hand away. “I never said that…You know why.”

“I know,” Rhaenys replied and led the way. “Know…you are a Snow and I am a Princess.”

Rhaenys went to retire to her chamber to write her letter while Jon Snow took supper.

When night had fallen and Arya had informed her Lady Stark’s retirement, Rhaenys went to seek out Jon.

The sharp smell of herbs filled her nose when they crossed the anteroom, leading to a lavish bed chamber.

The Maester was there. He looked like a grey mouse, as he hurried back and forth between Robb Stark’s sick bed and the table on which he had laid out bushels of herbs and countless of small pots.

A pestle was also there, covered with small green plants.

Robb Stark’s queen, Lady Jeyne Westerling was also there, dressed in grey and black. She looked very pale and watched the Maester work from her place in the large armchair.

At last, there was also a woman. Her resemblance to Jeyne Westerling was unmistakable.

_This must be her mother._

Rhaenys did not know why, but the woman’s unfriendly demeanour was so unlike the daughter.

Robb Stark didn’t look any better since she had last laid eyes on him. His face was pale and his bare hands were also red and slightly swollen. Whatever ailed Robb Stark, it could not be a mere sweating sickness.

“You are welcome,” Jeyne Westerling acknowledged their presence. “Arya told me you would come. Lady Stark usually does not join me until the early morning. I think we should be fine.”

Jon lowered his head. “I thank you, my lady.”

Jeyne’s mother didn’t seem to agree. She was openly glaring at Jon and gave Rhaenys and even more unfriendly look.

“The King needs rest. I do not think so many visitors will help him recover, but you must know better than me, daughter.”

Then, the unfriendly woman finally left.

“Forgive her,” Lady Jeyne replied. “My mother is just worried. As we are all.”

“Of course,” Rhaenys replied and pulled Jon along. “It is cold. Can I add some wood to the fire in the hearth?”

“A good idea,” Jeyne agreed and went to join the Maester. The man finished crushing the leaves and put them in a small bundle. “If the fever rises, put this into hot water, your grace.”

“Of course,” Jeyne confirmed and smiled at the Maester. “I thank you, good Maester. You may rest as well. We will have need of you on the morrow.”

The man smiled and left them shortly after.

There was a strange silence that fell over them. Jon had not moved an inch since Rhaenys had fed the flames back to life.

Arya was the only one who had sat down beside Robb.

She was also the one to break the silence.

“Get here, Jon.”

It was all that was needed to get Jon Snow moving.

Rhaenys, who did not know what to do with herself, went to watch Jeyne Westerling heat the tea over the fire.

Then, she put a handful of the crushed leaves into the steaming water.

When she was done, she picked up a handful crushed piece of _something_ from a pot that was placed on the nearby table.

“What is that?” Rhaenys asked out of curiosity. As a young girl, she had been terribly afraid of being poisoned by Cersei and had started to study herbs and poisons. It was something, she could talk about, a way to break the uncomfortable silence. “Does it also help against the fever?”

“Oh no,” Jeyne replied and shook her head. “It for Robb’s wound. It is a mixture of yarrow and garlic.”

Rhaenys nodded her head in understanding. “Yarrow helps the wound to heal, right? But why the garlic?”

“Garlic helps too…it protects against inflammation.”

It made sense, but something did not quite add up, when Rhaenys looked at Robb’s swollen hands.

“But aren’t his swollen hands an indication that there is some sort of inflammation?”

Jeyne fell silent, her gaze searching for Robb Stark. She did not speak for a long time before she shifted her attention back to Rhaenys.

“The Maester couldn’t make sense of it either, but he said the yarrow and garlic won’t make it worse. And it did help…Robb’s wound is nearly healed, but…but the fever won’t go down and the swelling is still there. I wish I had listened to my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother?” Rhaenys asked.

“Maggy the Frog,” Jeyne replied. “She was a healer. Very famous.”

“Oh,” Rhaenys replied and realized what an odd family the Westerlings were. “That sounds very intriguing.”

Jeyne beamed. “You think so?”

Rhaenys chuckled. “I think so.”

The next hours passed without incident. Robb Stark woke for some time, but the tea helped him back to sleep. Rhaenys and Jeyne had excused themselves for a while to give Jon and Arya space to be alone with Robb.

Strangely, she found she quite liked the Westerling girl. She was a bit naïve, but had a good heart.

Rhaenys also pitied and envied her at the same time. She seemed completely unaware about the fact that she was not a suitable bride for Robb Stark.

But when then the girl ran off to the privy only to return hour later, all pale and shaking, Rhaenys knew there was no turning back in this matter.

It seemed Robb Stark had bound himself to the Westerlings forever.

“Does your husband know?” Rhaenys asked her and jerked her head at the girl’s stomach.

Jeyne shook her head. “I didn’t know for long…I thought it was something different. I shall tell Robb when he feels better.”

“Well,” Rhaenys said and touched her arm. “I think you ought to rest as well. I doubt Lady Stark would expect of you to stay up all night if she knew.”

Jeyne smiled knowingly. “That is why I didn’t tell her or my mother about it. They would lock me up all day. I can’t allow that.”

“But you ought to rest,” Rhaenys told her again. “At least for tonight. We can keep watch…don’t fret.”

Jeyne gave her and understanding nod. “I understand…It is because of Jon Snow, isn’t it?”

Rhaenys was surprised that the girl was suddenly so observant. Maybe she was not as naïve as she appeared at the first glance.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Robb told me that his mother and brother do not get along,” Jeyne replied. “And I shall rest but call me before dawn. We don’t want to upset Lady Stark.”

Rhaenys nodded her head. “I shall do so.”

When Rhaenys returned Arya was already half asleep and Jon was watching the dying flames in the hearth.

Rhaenys, who did not want to disturb him, went back to the table where the Maester had laid out the herbs.

She eyed each with interest and at last she picked up the pot with the yarrow and garlic.

The smell made her wrinkle her nose and when she turned around, she was startled by Jon’s sudden presence.

“I wasn’t aware that you are interested in herbs?”

“Only a little…,” Rhaenys replied and put the pot away before making her way towards Robb Stark’s bed. She eyed his hands once more and noticed his fingernails showed a strange patter of dark and lighter stripes…

“Is something amiss, Rhaenys?” Jon asked her, startling her a little.

“It smells like garlic,” Rhaenys replied.

She knew it was unseemly, but she picked up Robb Stark’s hand and smelled on it.

There was only a faint hint of garlic, but to be sure also leaned closer to his mouth and nose.

His breath also smelled of garlic.

“Rhaenys,” Jon said in a low voice, probably to avoid waking Arya. “What is going on?”

Rhaenys ignored him, her heart racing, she searched the floor for the bed pan.

“Where I the bed pan?”

She was not surprised when Jon looked at her as if she was mad.

“The stool might smell of garlic as well.”

Jon grabbed her shoulders to keep her still. “And why is that important?”

Rhaenys was too anxious to articulate her fears. It would be too obvious…she feared to embarrass herself.

“Because garlic smell can be an indication for poison,” she told him and pulled on his arm. “Best to call for the Maester.”

Jon eyed her with disbelief.

“Are you sure?”

Rhaenys shook her head. “Of course not! That’s why we need the Maester!”

She expected Jon to shrug off her fears, but instead he let go of her and bolted out of the room.

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arsenic poisoning leaves a garlic smell to the breath and other liquids, leads to swollen red skin and a strange patters on the fingernails. Most of this is from the internet and I did not go into detail of the symptoms. I find it creepy to research poisons..makes me feel like a serial killer or something. As for the yarrow and the garlic...Yarrow does indeed help to heal wounds, although it was used for many other ailments (Wikipedia told me this) and garlic helps against infections. However, Sybill Spicer used the garlic to cover up the arsenic poisoing to basically confuse the Maester. Rhaenys is no poison master or anything, but arsenic poisoing was pretty common in the middle ages and it was almost too obvious...which is why Rhaenys wasn't completely convinced about her suspicion. The thing with Rhae's character, she is kinda the Sansa of the Targ family in the sense that she has no super magical abilities, but she is very observant and a natural distrust for people, which is not always a bad thing to have. I hope she does not come off as a mary sue for finding out about the poison. It was pure luck and maybe she did inherit some natural inclination for such things from her Uncle Oberyn.
> 
> As for Jon's behaviour. I am already dreading the comments...Jon is a pussy. Why is he cowering before Cat.
> 
> Cat is a wound point for Jon and unless they sort it out in the future it will remain like this.
> 
> As for jon and Rhae...well stuff will improve soon.


	47. Olenna

**Olenna**

The smell of King’s Landing hadn’t improved since her last visit years ago. Olenna had never held much love for this city nor the Targaryens. She had always known that Aerys would go down the wrong path, but even so her husband had always been loyal to them. Now the Targaryens were gone and had first been replacted with the Baratheons and then with the Lannisters.

Well, King Joffrey certainly carried the name Baratheon, but that couldn’t change the nasty rumours Stannis Baratheon has been spreading about the boy and his siblings. Olenna had found it incredibly amusing when she had first heard about it, because it must been a great humiliation for Tywin Lannister to find out that his golden children were humping each other and followed into the footsteps of the Targaryens. Renly had laughed too, implying that there might be some truth to the rumours that the Mad King had fucked Joanna Lannister.

Well, the time for mockery and laughter had long passed. Renly was dead and with his rotten corpose all of Mace’s dreams of queenship for Margaery. Olenna had always been sceptial about the plan, believing that her son was daring too much, but then Mace had always been an airhead like his father. Reason did not apply to him, only feelings and dreams. And such dreams had led them to this current crossroad that seemed to lead to many different directions.

There was for on Stannis Baratheon, who was the greatest threat to House Tyrell, because of his Florent wife. Then, there was Robb Stark, also married and with two kingdoms, one barbaric and barren and the other burned by Tywin Lannister’s bloody mummers. According to Mace the North wouldn’t have been worthy of their precious Marge anyway. A third option was this pretender, Aegon Targaryen, who was supposedly gathering an army of sellswords. No wonder, Dorne was being so quiet these days. She was sure they were already brandishing their spears and preparing their poisons. This pretender was exactly what Prince Doran Martell must have been waiting or perhaps he had known all along. At least, that is what Olenna believed.

_No, wonder they never lifted a finger to save Princess Rhaneys_. _Who had need of a Princess when he had a Prince? Poor girl._

And now Olenna was here in King’s Landing, invited by no other than Tywin Lannister himself, who was surely plotting something. She had always thought of him as an intelligent man, but also proud and overly cruel. At times, she wondered why no one had killed him so far, but perhaps such a fate was looming ahead.

Tuly, Olenna felt too old for this nonense, but then she was the most expandable person in her family and that was the reason she had suggeted travelling to King’s Landing.

„It will not be far, my Lady Olenna,“ whispered Peytr Baelish through the thin drape of her litter. It was incredibly hot and not even the two girls fanning cool air into her face helped.

Littlefinger was smiling down at her when she pulled the drape aside. He wore a splendid robe of white and blue, fitting for the Lord Paramount of the Vale, a position he had only achieved by crawling into Lysa Tully’s soft bed. Olenna didn’t understand what that woman saw in this man, but then he might simply be a good bed companion. Certainly, better than old Jon Arryn. Not that Olenna could blame her. She had also escaped her unhappy marriage with a hairless Targaryen by seducing her late husband.

„I can see it,“ Oleanna replied. „We are nearly up Aegon’s hill.“

„Indeed,“ Lord Baelish replied and smiled again. „And Lord Tywin is eager to meet with you. King Joffrey will also be there.“

Littlefinger nodded his head like an obedient puppy and was not surprised he omitted the existence of King Joffrey’s wife, Sansa Stark. Knowing Tywin she wouldn’t be surprised if the girl was already dead.

„I shall be pleased to meet his grace.“

Littlefinger bared his white teeth. „And his grace would have been even happier to meet your granddaughter.“

„Margaery is still grieving,“ Olenna. „His grace will meet her soon enough, should these negotiations end in our favour.“

Truth be told, Olenna hoped Tywin would make it easy for her. She didn’t trust him and she would prefer to ally herself with the pretender. Helping Rhaegar’s supposed son back to the crown made a much nobler tale than to help a potential bastard keep his crown. She was also aware that this pretender was supposedly wed to Princess Daenerys, but then there was no guarentee this foreign marriage would be accepted in Westeros. Perhaps Olenna Tyrell could find a way to please both sides: to fulfil Mace’s greatest dream of marrying Marge to a King and to support someone who would be beholden to House Tyrell forever.

It was the sound of the gate that roused her out of her thoughts. She noticed that Littlefinger was no longer riding beside her, but had joined his guard on the front.

Olenna exhaled deeply and prepared herself for the den of lions.

Tywin Lannister was waiting for her personally when she was led into the spacious throne room. The spiked chair of Aegon Targaryen loomed over them like a dark shadow, but Tywin Lannister appeared as golden as ever.

Seated atop the mighty throne, Olenna spotted his grandson, King Joffrey. He was a tall and golden-haired youth. It was true what they said about him. He looked more a Lannister than a Baratheon. It was not hard to believe that this boy was fathered by the Kingslayer.

Olenna felt the urge to snort. The old lion probably thought he could scare her, but she was far too old to fear the dark pit that awaited everyone at the end of their life. Tywin Lannister and the rest of his family had much more to lose. A crown, a realm, their lives.

„You are very welcome, Lady Olenna,“ Joffrey Baratheon greeted her in a haughty manner. „My grandfather commanded me to greet you personally.“

„Forgive me, that I am not able to drop a curtsy, your grace,“ Olenna replied and tapped her gilded walking stick on the floor. „I am too old to follow the right protocol for a lady, but the honor is all mine.“

King Joffrey was about to open his mouth, but Lord Tywin was quick to interfere, as if he feared the boy might do something stupid.

„You are welcome to join me in my solar,“ Lord Tywin added. „We have also prepared some refreshments for you.“

„I thank you, my lord,“ Olenna replied and was pleased to hear that Lord Tywin was not wasting her time. She had no trust in that man, but respected him. „Let us not waste anymore time than necessary.“

„My son will also join us,“ Lord Tywin added, as he led her through a door, leading up a handful of steps. Olenna felt the urge to curse him, but she didn’t want to a appear weak. Thus, she gritted her teeth and forced herself up the steps.

She was gasping for air when she settled herself in the large armchair, covered with at least a dozen of cushions. She felt almost like a child, as Lord Tywin was looming over her momentarily.

The old lion sat down across her and next to the window sat Tywin’s dwarf son. He looked like an ugly shrunken monkey, his strange eyes watching Olenna curiously.

„I forgot to give my condolences for your daughter’s passing,“ Olenna lied and took a sip from the iced wine. „She was a most gracious queen.“

Tywin Lannister showed no hint of sadness and came straight to the point.

„We are pleased you came here,“ he said and searched her gaze. „The truth is, we wish for an allegiance with House Tyrell against our enemies. There is for one Stannis Baratheon, who has supposedly taken his fleet North…perhaps to ally himself with Robb Stark. And then there is of course the shadow of this pretender looming over us.“

„And the fact that Princess Rhaenys has fled from the captial makes it even more difficult for you to keep Dorne off your back, isn’t that so?“ Lady Olenna asked. „I am sure they are already conspiring.“

„Likely,“ Tywin Lannister replied. „There are rumours that the Golden Company has sailed from Volantis and if Dorne were to join this boy, he could certainly become a problem.2

„I am aware of that,“ Olenna replied. „We too have a common enemy…Stannis Baratheon. His Florent wife wants to see us gone and if he were to ally himself with Robb Stark this would also pose a problem for us.“

„So it seems we have a common cause,“ Lord Tywin replied. „Which is why we want to offer a match between your granddaughter Margaery Tyrell and my grandson, King Joffrey.“

Olenna was not surprised that he was so blunt about it.

„And the Stark girl? Is she not wed to your grandson?“

„It was a sham marriage,“ Tywin Lannister replied. „The Septon was half drunken and Joffrey had no right to marry without the council’s approval. Well, the girl will be no bother to your granddaughter. Do not think of her.

„Where is the girl?“ Oleanna asked. „Only then will I not fret about her.“

„She is still in Casterly Rock, but I intend to send her to the Silent Sisters once the war is done…then the marriage between your granddaughter and my grandson can be held without hinderance. I am sure it will be a grand wedding.“

Olenna was not surprised Tywin wanted to wait.

„And I assumed you expect us to give you our troopes before the wedding is sealed?“

„Of course,“ Lord Tywin replied and nodded his head in approval. „And in return I shall draw up an offical betrothal document.“

„So we get paper and you get our men-at-arms?“ Lady Olenna asked sceptically. „Not much, is it?“

For the first time, since her arrival Lord Tywin grimaced.

„We do not exepect all of your men-at-arms, my lady. I have already raised a large host at Casterly Rock, Ser Gregor has already been sent out to wreak havoc in the Riverlands and I shall soon have more sellswords at hand. I am a rich man, as you know, my lady Olenna. Well, in regards to the number of troopes we expect from you….around ten-thousand men should be enough, just to retake Harrenhall.“

Olenna was not surprised by the old lion’s demand. That was always the Lannister way. They thought they had a right to everything.

Well, Olenna knew she had to abide by her son’s will. She was the Queen of Thorns, but not the Lord of Highgarden. They also had to play the long game, until they knew more about this pretender.

„Tarly has been anxious since Renly’s death,“ Olenna replied and took another sip from her cup of iced wine. „I am sure he would be pleased to help you retake Harrenhall.“

„Tarly is a good man,“ Lord Tywin replied very pleased with himself. „I thank you, my lady.“

_Do not thank me_, Olenna thought. _Thank my foolish son._

Yet, Olenna found no peace that night. Her back was aching, as she tried to sleep in this overly soft bed. In the end, she called for one of the page boys.

He was a young boy from House Fassoway, a distant cousin of Garlan’s wife.

„My lady?“ the boy asked. „You have a task for me, my lady?“

„Indeed,“ she replied and smiled. „Soon, you will be very sick, my boy. Stomach gramps and all and then you will be sent back to Highgarden, but in truth you will be acting as my emissary.“

The boy stared back at her with wide eyes. „Your emissary?“

„Indeed,“ Olenna said and waved her hand at him. „And then you will give Lord Willas a letter of mine…a letter that cannot be known to my foolish son, Lord Pufffish.“

The boy paled. „You don’t want to have Lord Mace know about it?“

„Are you deaf?“ she asked the boy. „Or do you have green apples in your head instead of brain matter, my boy?“

The boy blushed. „I am just surprised. Very well, I shall deliver your letter, my lady. What is the content of this letter?“

„I will write a letter and seal it,“ Olenna told him in a warning tone. „And if I hear that the seal was broken, I will make sure that you will never become a knight. Is that understood?“

The boy stared at her fearfully. „I understand.“

Lady Olenna nodded her head and handed him the letter not long after. The writing was meant for Willas, a plan still in the making, but nevertheless a plan.

Her foolish son, Lord Pufffish, would never lower himself to speak to the Dornish, but Willas had friendly connections to Prince Oberyn Martell…

...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Jon.
> 
> Aparently HBO wants to do a sequel...or maybe it is just testing the waters or plain click-bait. Anyway, why would anyone want to watch a story about a re-resurrected mass-murderer and a guy with the brain of a stone? The only way would be to re-do all of season 8 and perhaps even season 7. Like have the fight between Dany x Cersei be the main conflict in season 7 with King's Landing being burned due to Cersei going insane and then Dany goes to the North with Jon to fight the Others. Cut out the silly wight hunt and give the characters actual interactions. The burning of King's Landing would at least give Sansa reason to be tense with Dany, but have her act like a lady and not like a mean girl from highschool. And season 8 can focus on the mystery of the Others and the endgame. Well, I cannot imagine the actors dedicating another two years of their life for this. Honestly, the best way for HBO would be to do a complete re-make animated series based on the books and with competent writers. They could produce their own Castelvania? Is that the name of the show everyone at Netflix seems to like? I know the majority of people think animation is for kids, but then I know plenty of grown ups who loved Avatar the Last Airbender more than their kids. Animation can much deeper than real-life actors and the best about it: it is much cheeper to produce and if they started in one or two years from now with season 1 we might actually get WoW and maybe a semi-reasonable ending. Just have George sit down with competent writers, line out the storyline and if he kicks the bucket we get A song of ice and fire the made-up ending if necessary. I mean FMA did the same it was pretty good.Actually, I trust other writers to make up a more competent ending than George, who seems to be too deep into the edglord cool-aid and seems to much focused on subverting Tolkien, who by the way is a much better writer than him, by many leagues.


	48. Jon

**Jon**

Jon watched in silence, as the wooden cart was pulled away beneath Sybille Westerling’s feet. At the snapping sound of the rope, the noose tightened around her neck, breaking it within the blink of a moment.

The body bounced up and down for a handful of times before it stopped. She was dead and would be given as a meal to the crows if Jon had any say in the matter, but then this woman was his queen’s mother. His queen’s mother, who had tried to poison Robb.

Jon didn’t linger to watch the Westerlings retrieve the body of their mother but decided to lead Robb back inside. He was still in bad shape, his skin pale and his frame trembling at every step. The Maester had said that the seizures and fevers might prevail for a few more weeks or even moons, but one thing was sure: Robb would recover. Hearing these good tidings had helped to ease their fears but they had no time to waste.

Tywin Lannister’s mummers had started attacking the Riverlands once more. The Lannisters had also started raising another host in the Westerlands or at least that is what Robb had told him upon his arrival. At last, there was still the matter of the Ironborn occupying Winterfell.

Robb seemed to share his worry, for he called them all together in his solar to speak about the future.

„You should rest,“ Lady Stark told Robb, but he brushed her hand away and pulled his furred cloak tighter around his shoulders. He looked as if he was cold, but Jon knew better. The poison had weakened him. „We can talk on the morrow.“

„We cannot,“ Robb insisted and looked over to Jon. „We must make plans. We have wasted enough time.“

„What do you have a plan in mind, nephew?“ Edmure Tully asked.

„Here is what we do, uncle,“ replied Robb. „I want you to gather men among the Riverlords to join the brotherhood. Together they can fight Tywin’s sellswords.“

Jon liked the idea. Smaller groups could move faster.

„Let me join them,“ Jon offered quickly.

But Robb shook his head. „I have other plans for you, Jon. I intend to send you, Lady Mormont and Lord Glover to lead a part of our troops through the Neck. Lord Howland Reed can help you bypass Moat Cailin to surprise the Ironborn. Once that is accomplished, it shouldn’t be hard for you to retake Winterfell and secure the North for us.“

Jon understood Robb’s reasoning, but he did not like the idea of taking away his brother’s bannermen. „But your armies are already weakened due to the Karstark’s and the Frey’s leaving your cause. There is still Lord Bolton at Harrenhall, but I wouldn’t trust this man even if he gave a hundred vows at a weirwood tree.“

Edmure chuckled. „I agree with Ser Jon. And my lords will like the idea of leaving their castles.“

„I know,“ Robb replied and bit his lips „But the Freys are lost forever and Rickard Karstark is a traitor.“

„I agree with that,“ Jon replied. „But you will need Karstark to hold the North.“

Robb grimaced and rubbed his temples. „How would you do it?“

„You won’t like it,“ Jon replied and searched his brother’s gaze. „But it is the only way I could think of…Perhaps you could offer Rickard Stark something he desires…a marriage.“

„A marriage,“ said Robb and grimaced. „I do not want to reward Rickard Karstark for disobeying me.“

„No,“ Jon replied. „But as a sort of exchange. Lord Rickard will get a marriage and in return, he will abdicate to his son and return his army to us.“

„That might be a possible solution,“ said Lady Stark, but did not look at Jon. Her gaze was always fixed on Robb. „Edmure could marry Lord Rickard’s daughter.“

Edmure Tully frowned. „How old is this girl you speak of?“

„Older than Sansa,“ Jon replied. „But I wasn’t speaking about you, my lord…Robb must marry her.“

Robb looked as if Jon had slapped him. All eyes in the room were now fixed on him. Even Rhaenys was staring at Jon with wide eyes and she was rarely surprised by anything.

„I am wed, Jon,” Robb said in disbelief. “Jeyne is also expecting my child.“

„I know so much,“ Jon replied and tried to hide his discomfort. „But she has no family that could be angered by your actions. And as I said before. You cannot rule the North without the Karstarks.”

„I gave my vows,“ Robb replied, his voice filled with anger. Jon knew he had to be careful. „I cannot put her aside.“

„You married her by the Faith of the Seven,“ Jon tried to explain his reasoning as best as possible. „But you are a King in your own right and you follow the Old Gods. Why would you care about the Faith? I also don’t think anyone in the North would think ill of you for looking elsewhere. The Westerlings are not loved.“

Robb lowered his head, his hand curling around his cup. He was obviously in pain and exhausted. It made Jon regret what he had said.

„And what about my child?“ Robb asked and looked at Jon. „Do you want it to be a bastard?”

Jon tensed and balled his fist. „That was never my intention, Robb. Besides, I you do not even know if the child will be a boy. As for Lady Jeyne…she may stay with the child. In fact, I think it would be best to keep her as a hostage. She was most likely innocent, but most of your bannermen will not think the same way.“

Robb said nothing to Jon’s proposal and simply moved on to the next topic.

Then, he shifted his attention back to Rhaenys, completely ignoring Jon’s presence.

„I have a task for you, my lady. I have considered your past proposal and I think it is best if you accompany my mother to Dorne. I cannot promise anything, but I urge you to speak on my behalf with your brother.“

Rhaenys looked startled.

“If that is what you want, your Grace,” she replied politely and looked over to Jon. “I shall do my best.”

Not long after, Robb dismissed them, but Jon remained.

When Robb did not send him away, he waited before his brother was willing to speak to him.

“Your proposal is harsh,” Robb said and lifted the cup of tea the master had brought him. He grimaced at the taste and continued. “But you are right…I should have never married her. Yet, I do not wish to see her suffer.”

Jon was taken back by his confession. He had thought Robb had only wed her out of guilt, but it seemed he was very wrong.

“She will not suffer,” Jon replied carefully. “And if Lord Rickard’s daughter cannot give you a son…Well, you could keep a potential son of Jeyne as your spare heir. Until then, you could give him as a ward to someone you can trust. I know it is a terrible decision to make, but I wouldn’t have suggested it if I didn’t think it important.”

“I know,” Robb replied and turned to the window, giving a view over the river. “But I will need some time to think.”

Jon nodded his head and exhaled deeply.

“What about the Kingslayer?” Jon asked after a moment of silence had fallen over them. “Do you think it is wise to keep him here in Riverrun? I am sure Tywin is still keen freeing him.”

Robb nodded his head in silence, as he brushed his hand over his chin. “I have use for him. Don’t fret about it, Jon.”

Jon knew then that Robb had a plan. “I won’t fret about it.”

He drew closer and touched Robb’s shoulder. “You ought to rest as well. You are still weak.”

Robb exhaled deeply and eyed the crown on the table. “No wonder Aerys turned mad and King Robert changed from a warrior to fat fool. Crowns are more of a curse than a blessing. I feel as I am defending the crown more for my bannermen than myself. Even so, I cannot go back.”

“About Bran and Rickon,” Jon added and squeezed Robb’s shoulder once more. “I shall kill every Ironborn I can find. This I swear.”

Robb smiled sadly. “Go and rest. On the morrow, you will have to take leave of Princess Rhaenys.”

Jon had not even realized that he would have to part from her if she went to Dorne. Reason told him that it would be better for him to be far away from her, but it would be a lie to say he did not find her alluring. Looking back, he had felt that way long before, when he had first met her in Winterfell, but that feeling had only intensified after they had kissed…two times.

Still, he was a bastard while she was meant to marry some prince or high lord. There was no place for someone like Jon in a princess’s life and he had no intention to become her lover. He might only be a bastard, but he was sure Robb would give him a holdfast and perhaps a lady to wed.

“Brooding again,” Arya remarked beside him, her arms wound around Ghost’s head. “Will you ever stop your brooding, Jon?”

“I could say the same about you,” Jon quipped and leaned closer to ruffle her hair. “I am sure Nym will find you soon enough.”

“It’s not just about Nym,” Arya replied and buried her head in Ghost’s fur. “I am also worried about Sansa. What do you think will the Lannisters do with her?”

“Nothing,” Jon assured her. “Tywin would be a fool if he harmed her. She is like the Kingslayer…a valuable hostage.”

“Why can’t we just go to Winterfell?” Arya asked unhappily. “I would love to kill some Ironborn…for what they did to Bran and Rickon. Would be better than to sit around and do nothing.”

“You are doing something,” Jon replied and tickled her beneath the arms, making her squeal in delight. “By staying here. Besides, who can Nym find you if you are in the North?”

“True,” Arya replied. “But I still don’t like it.”

“Me either,” Jon replied and rose to his feet. It was time to go to bed. “But I cannot allow you to be harmed, little sister. Now come along and let us go to bed.”

Jon’s body felt heavy as he sat down upon the featherbed. It was a finer bed than Cersei’s bed or at least that is how it felt to him. Even so, Riverrun felt like a foreign place to him.

This was Lady Stark’s home. Jon did not belong here and he wanted to go back home. To Winterfell.

He had just pulled off his second boot when a knock at the door distracted him. He smiled, believing to know who it was.

Surely, Arya was up to some nonsense.

“Come in.”

He continued to pull off his cloak, as he listened to the creaking of the door. When he turned around, he froze on the spot.

It was Princess Rhaenys, garbed in a loose nightgown and a dark cloak wrapped around her shoulders. Her hair was also undone, like the one time he had seen her bath.

The thought made his breeches feel much tighter.

“What are you doing here?” he asked in confusion.

Rhaenys closed the door without giving a proper answer and picked the flagon of wine from the table. She poured herself a cup and drank quickly before shifting her attention back to Jon.

“I am here to do something I wanted to do for a long time,” Rhaenys replied determinedly and put the cup back on the table. In the same breath, she had pulled off her cloak, her dark eyes searching his. “It might be my last chance before I leave for Dorne.”

Jon shook his head but she was already standing right in front of him. Her proximity made his heart race and his lips dry. He could see her features very clearly through her nightgown.

“Rhaenys,” Jon warned, but she bridged the rest of the distance, her hand brushing over his cheek. “This is not right.”

“I decide for myself,” she replied and leaned closer to brush her lips over his. First softly, and then harder. Instinctively, Jon returned her kiss, unable to stop himself. And soon enough, he was deepening the kiss, his hand brushing over her neck and then her hair. It was long and thick and it blinded him momentarily when she climbed into his lap.

It was this action that made him pull away.

“What is wrong?” she asked and rubbed herself against him. “I can feel that you are not lacking the necessary attributes for this kind of pleasure.”

Jon gasped.

He had never expected her to be so forward.

“You are a maid, are you not?”

“So what?” Rhaenys asked and slipped her hand into his breeches, touching him. “I have grown up in King’s Landing. When I was ten and two, I found two servants humping in front of the Sept. I have seen more naked people than you and I know what to do.”

She sounded as if he had insulted her. It was also hard to think clearly when she was touching him down there.

“I never doubted it…,” he began, but he could not continue further, because it felt so good, his eyes rolled back and another gasp leaving his mouth.

When she suddenly stopped, he felt frustrated.

_This is wrong_, he knew but his body thought differently. _But why does it feel so good?_

He had once sworn in front of the weirwood tree in Winterfell that he would never dishonor himself as his father had done with his mother, yet when her hands were on him again and her tongue was in his mouth, he forgot about the weirwoods and the rest of his world.

She deepened the kiss, as she guided him inside her.

She gave a gasp of pain and let go of his mouth. Jon nuzzled her neck and bit back a groan when she started to shift above him.

She was so wet and so tight; it was almost unbearable. That she was not moving, making it only harder for him.

Eventually, she regained her composure and looked at him once more.

“Isn’t that sweet?” she asked softly. Her words made him shudder, for they reminded him of another woman, green-eyed and cruel, but when he looked into her dark eyes, he had to agree with her. This was dangerously sweet and what followed was even sweeter.

He answered by touching her breasts, as she continued to move above him, her eyes shut in concentration.

Jon felt himself rutting against her at a fast pace, losing himself to the pleasure. With a muted gasp, she collapsed atop of him and lay down beside him, her head resting against his chest.

This was even sweeter, but sleep came quickly and brushed away his worries.

When he woke in the morning he was hard again, but she did not seem bothered. She simply kissed him again and riding him once more. It happened a second time that morn, but when the first rays of sunlight fell through the windows, he freed himself from her embrace and went to wash his face in the tepid water the servant girls had left for him last night.

Outside, he heard Ghost’s howl from the kennels. It felt as if he was calling for him.

“You are angry, are you not?” Rhaenys asked him. She sounded almost shy. “Hoping the water is cold enough to soften your manhood?”

Jon almost laughed. He had never heard a girl speak so openly about such a matter.

“I am not angry,” he replied and turned around. He quickly searched for his breeches, discarded on the floor. “I am not angry…but this was madness.”

“It was a sweet madness,” Rhaenys argued and pulled the bedding over her shoulders. “I never thought it could be this sweet.”

“Sweet and dangerous,” Jon replied and drew closer, sitting down at the edge of the bed. He eyed her over his shoulder. It was easier to think now that she was no longer naked. Yet, the longing was still there. “No one can know… They might think I seduced you…forced you into it. And now you will have a hard time finding a husband…” he trailed off when he noticed Rhaenys’ close presence. Her presence was intoxicating, but he knew it was the wrong thing to do.

Rhaenys moved closer, her hand brushing over his shoulder. “What makes you think I am interested in marrying some high lord? The idea of marrying Joff always scared me and I barely escaped a marriage to the Imp. And if my brother tries something, I am going to remind him that I am still his sister and not a tool…I am done being pushed around!”

Jon did not push her away, but this could never happen again, no matter how much his body seemed to long for her touch.

Instead of kissing her, he squeezed her hand. “We shall speak once you return from Dorne. By then, you might have changed your mind.”

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I have nothing to watch I watched all of Avatar Last Airbender again...
> 
> I watched it as a whole the last time when I was fifteen and back then I was still shipping Zuko and Katara...Now I am like...I only shipped them because they were hot, but they had really no romantic stuff going on. I mean she hated Zuko nearly most of the series. It kinda was the Jonsa ship of this universe...
> 
> And now after 13 years, I am still waiting for season 4? Where is the comic adaption of Zuko finding his mother...
> 
> I know there is Korra and the first season was alright, but the rest was meh...I don't consider it canon. And the live-action adaption. What is the point?
> 
> Give me something new.
> 
> That said. I still laugh about Sokka's line.
> 
> My girlfriend became the moon.
> 
> Zuko: thats rough.


	49. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Dany sighed when she slipped into the cool water of the pools. The heat of Dorne was no bother to her, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy a cool bath in the water gardens.

It was a beautiful place. There were countless of pools made of pale marble, black stone, and red stone. The palm, peach, and lemon trees were nearly as beautiful as the exotic flowers blooming everywhere she looked.

The smell was even better. Everywhere she turned, her nose was filled with the heavy smell of flowers and the salty taste of the sea.

All Dany had known about the Water Gardens had come from books and tales, but she knew that the second Daenerys had wed a Prince of Dorne, who had built these gardens for her.

Prince Doran Martell had two sons and a daughter. Princess Arianne, who stayed always close to her brother, was watching Dany from her place beneath the baldachin. She had not spoken much to Daenerys, though she was her good-sister and Viserys seemed to like her well enough.

And why shouldn’t he? She had a shapely body, beautiful golden eyes, and full red lips. She also enjoyed dressing in revealing gowns, not unlike her many cousins. _The Sandsnakes_, Prince Oberyn Martell called his seven daughters. The eldest three were always there, fluttering around Aegon like bees around a pot of honey.

The oldest was called Obara, a comely lady of thirty namedays, who always carried a spear around with her. Nymeria, a black-haired beauty with a mother from Volatis. Tyene, a blond-haired girl with very blue eyes that dressed herself in the white robes of a Septa. There was also another one called Elia, named after her brother’s wife. She was a golden-skinned girl, who loved nothing more than chasing her horse through the desert. Dany had even been invited to join her and had gladly taken her offer, but even so, she couldn’t help but notice that the older girls held more interest in Aegon than was appropriate. Even Princess Arianne was sometimes prying after Aegon, who seemed more than flattered by her presence.

Dany had been surprised by this subtle feeling of jealousy, but Aegon was her husband and she supposed he had good reason to look elsewhere when she was keeping him at a distance.

Yet, she couldn’t help it. Even after he had helped her to escape the House of the Undying, the loss of her child was still too fresh and she didn’t trust Aegon enough to bear her feelings to him. The fact, that they were here in this yet unfamiliar place didn’t help. The Martells were kind to them, but Illyrio’s false kindness had told her to be wary about overly generous people.

„Your grace,“ the voice of Ashara Dayne called her back to the present. „Forgive me for interrupting your bath.“

Dany lifted her head and swam to the stone steps leading out of the pool of water. She was dripping, as she sat down on the stone steps, but she was not cold. The Dornish sun was as bright as the sun of Essos.

„I do not mind,“ Dany replied and took the cloth from Lady Ashara’s hands. It was strange to see her without her Septa’s costume, her dark hair curling a little below her shoulders and her deep violet eyes accentuated by a dark shade. Dany had missed her presence. „I have been lingering too long…I need to attend to my children.“

With her children, she meant her three dragons. She couldn’t help but smile whenever she thought of them and rubbed her shoulders clean.

„What can I do for you?“

„Aegon wishes to share the newest tidings with,“ Ashara told her. „But there is no hurry.“

Dany nodded her head. „I shall attend to Aegon once I have taken care of my children.“

As expected, Dany found the dragons feasting upon a roasted goat. The animal had been killed before, but by now the dragons had dismembered the body into a good hundred smaller pieces until there was nothing more left than a black carcass of flesh and bones.

The smell was sweet and unpleasant at the same time, but Dany had long gotten used to her children’s way of eating and seeing them well-fed and happy pleased even more.

As always, the black dragon was the first to greet her, his wings spread wide and his hot scales digging deep into the soft skin of her shoulder.

Balerion was his name, but he was as sweet as honey.

„You had your fill, didn’t you?“ she asked her dragon and brushed her hand over his back. The dragon made a chirping sound and rubbed his head against her neck. If he was a cat he might have purred. „And you seem very cuddly today.“

When his brother’s song grew louder, Dany noticed that someone had disturbed their peace. It was Viserys, who glowered at the dragon on her shoulder.

„Dragons are not meant for cuddling,“ her brother grumbled. „They are mighty beasts.“

In her youth, Dany would have lowered her gaze and softened her voice, but she was done with bowing to Viserys.

„They are young and vulnerable,“ she replied and leaned down to touch Meraxes, who was rubbing his head against her leg. „They are still children and crave attention.“

„You are making them _weak_, sister,“ Viserys snorted and drew closer, stretching out his hand towards Vhagar, but the dragon unleashed a puff of hot flames upon of fire upon her prideful brother. He backed away and nearly stumbled over his own feet, landing on his ass.

„You should have listened to your _own_ advice, uncle,“ Aegon added cheerfully, as he entered the chamber that had once served as a sleeping place for Prince Oberyn’s hunting dogs. „These dragons are indeed mighty beasts and they do not like it when you insult their mother!“

„Their mother,“ Viserys snorted and pulled himself back to his feet. „What a silly notion, nephew. Dragons have no sex nor do they have need of mothers.“

„Perhaps not,“ Dany agreed grudgingly. „Lady Ashara told me you wanted to speak with me.“

Aegon nodded his head in confirmation. „I also wanted your brother to join us. This concerns us all…We should have supper and then we can speak.“

Dany feigned a smile. Supper with Viserys didn’t rouse much appetite. „That sounds lovely.“

And it was lovely.

The first dish was spiced stew with fish and mint, the second dish a large salmon roasted over an open fire, and the third a dish of sweet plums.

Dany had enjoyed her meal, but she couldn’t help but notice the looks Princess Arianne was giving Aegon across the table. Viserys didn’t seem to notice it, but then her brother had always been rather blind to things that were right in front of his eyes.

„Tell us now, nephew,“ Viserys said and lifted the cup of wine to his lips. He smiled. „What is it you only want to share in privacy? Is it a secret?“

„My uncle already knows about it,“ Aegon replied. „And Uncle Oberyn has already sent word to Lord Yronwood about my sister’s coming.“

„Rhaenys?“ Dany asked in wonder and clutched her cup of wine. „She is coming here? I thought she had disappeared?“

„She is currently at Riverrun,“ Aegon explained. „And she sent me a letter, informing me that she has been a guest at Robb Stark’s court. Only recently he offered her to accompany his lady mother to Dorne…as his official envoy.“

Viserys snorted „So Eddard Stark’s pup sends us his mother and our niece? Do you know how that smells? Like treason.“

„I doubt Robb Stark is doing this out of selflessness,“ Princess Arianne added and leaned over the table to pick a grape from the bowl. Her bosom was visible through her thin silken clothing, her nipples hard and dark like her beautiful hair.

Aegon must have noticed it too, for he cleared his throat in an uncomfortable manner.

„Well,“ he said. „First, I want to speak with my sister and Lady Stark. Then, we can judge Robb Stark’s intentions towards us.“

Viserys didn’t seem to agree and slammed his fist on the table, making the dishes rattle.

„He is calling himself King Stark!“ Viserys said. „He is trying to take what is ours!“

„Nothing is ours yet, dear brother,“ Dany added skeptically. „First, we must take King’s Landing, and then we can speak about fighting_ our_ many enemies. I do not see why we shouldn’t speak to this Lady Stark. For whatever it is worth, Robb Stark was kind enough to send our niece back to us when he could have easily kept her as a hostage.“

„A good argument,“ Aegon agreed. „And therefore we shall treat Lady Catelyn with the utmost kindness. Rhaenys will also have many questions for us.“

„You are too soft-hearted,“ Viserys sighed and brushed his hand over Princess Arianne‘s naked arm. „Our enemies will make use of that.“

„I understand,“ Aegon continued and brought his cup to his lips. He drank deeply and grimaced. „Speaking of enemies…another raven has reached us.“

Dany looked over to her husband. „From whom?“

„Lord Willas Tyrell,“ Princess Arianne explained. „Lord Mace Tyrell’s oldest son. It seems they are after all interested in an allegiance.“

„Took them long enough,“ Viserys snorted. „It seems they forgot who gave their family their lands and titles. They were mere stewards before Aegon the Conqueror named them the Lord Paramounts of the Reach! The same goes for these cursed Tullys!“

„Cursed or not,“ Arianne added cheerfully „The Tyrells could give Aegon the crown. They would be valuable allies, but do not be fooled…they won’t lift a single finger unless you offer a marriage, cousin. Everyone knows that Mace Tyrell is longing for a crown for his _precious_ little girl.“

Dany felt as if someone had kicked her in the guts. „How old is this girl you speak of?“

„A year older than you,“ Arianne replied tartly. „I also heard she is pretty and as fertile as a freshly plowed field.“

„There are many Tyrells,“ Viserys added in amusement. „One of their ancestors was called Garth the Fruitful!“

No one laughed, besides Princess Arianne.

„I cannot marry this girl,“ Aegon added tensely and scrubbed his chin. „Perhaps I could offer a match with Rhaenys?“

„A possibility,“ Arianne said and shrugged her shoulders. „But Willas Tyrell is a cripple and older than her by several years. I am also not sure if it would be enough to convince Mace Tyrell when Tywin might offer him a match to his grandson.“

„Isn’t Joffrey Baratheon married?“ Dany asked in confusion. „To Robb Stark’s sister?“

Arianne chuckled lightly. „The girl is probably long dead. Tywin is the kind of man that disposes of those that stand in his way…like my Aunt.“

„I cannot afford to waste any more time,“ Aegon told her later when the others had left them. In the past, Dany would have left with them to return to her chamber and sleep in company of her ladies. Most of the time, she even shared her bed with Doreah, but after she had seen how lustily these other girls were eying her husband she had begun to change her mind. She needed to do something, so much she knew, but that was easier said than done.

„Daenerys?“ Aegon asked, turning to look at her. They were seated at a smaller table, the open window providing them with a cool breeze. „Are you listening?“

„Of course,“ Dany replied and nodded her head in confirmation. „I suppose you will go to war once Jon Connington arrives with the Golden Company?“

Aegon smiled sadly. „It is not as easy as you think. My Uncle Doran is hesitant to promise me men and thinks we should wait until Robb Stark and Tywin have killed each other…Well, I disagree. It is time I show myself and fight my own battles.“

Dany didn’t like the sound of that. She was just as anxious to fight, but that didn’t mean she wanted to see Aegon go to battle. Rhaegar had done the same and had died, despite being a capable swordsman. He also had no heir to rely on.

_My fault_, she knew and felt her heartache with guilt_. If not for my foolishness we wouldn’t have lost our babe._

_I need to keep Aegon from killing himself…_

„You want to fight yourself?“ she asked softly and searched his face. „I do not like the sound of that.“

Aegon stared back at her in confusion. „I am a King….I cannot hide away in Dorne while my men go to war. I need to prove myself or no one will follow me.“

Dany bit her lips.

„I didn’t mean to insult you,“ she said and tried to find the right words. „But you have no heir…“

Yet, her words didn’t make it any better. Aegon hopped to his feet and started pacing the room like a trapped animal.

„I don’t have time for this,“ he said and stopped abruptly, watching her from the distance. „And you are not making it any easier for me.“

Dany knew she deserved that rebuke, but she was no longer Viserys‘ meek sister, meant to be tormented and insulted.

„It wasn’t easy for me either,“ Dany admitted and balled her hand to a fist, resting it in her lap. She had pondered more than once how to tell him about their loss, but speaking openly was not something that came easy to her. „I should have told you, but I didn’t know how.“

Aegon’s demeanor changed within the blink of a moment. His features softened and his lips turned downwards.

„Tell me what?“

„There was a price to be paid for hatching the eggs,“ she explained and fumbled with her skirt. „An unknown price…I bled heavily after the hatching…I think it was more than my moonblood.“

Aegon’s eyebrows shot up and his purple eyes widened.

„Oh,“ he breathed out softly. Then he stopped half the way and turned around. He appeared confused, like a man who had lost something important. Dany waited patiently until he turned around to look at her. In the same breath, he bridged the distance and came to stand before her. „Is that why you were so cold?“

Dany nodded her head, tears burning in her eyes. Aegon grimaced and pulled his arm around her, pulling her closer.

He felt warm, his body firm against hers, but he was still a stranger to her.

„It was my fault,“ Dany admitted and hid her face in the crook of his neck. „I should have been more careful.“

Aegon chuckled and lifted his head, his purple eyes shining with. Carefully, he touched her head and brushed his hand over her short silver locks.

„That’s utter nonsense,“ Aegon told her. „It was the work of these damned warlocks…Besides, we can have more children. Well, that is if you are willing to try? I know it isn’t particularly romantic, but then I have not exactly much experience with women. As you know I grew up on a pole-boat in Volantis!“

Soft laughter spilled from her lips, as she looked up at her husband. He had gentle eyes and his skin shone golden in the bright candlelight.

„You have my blessing,“ Dany told him and touched his shoulder, his soft silver hair spilling over her fingers. „Do what you must do…,“ she trailed off when she noticed that Aegon was leaning closer, his lips brushing over hers ever softly.

Dany returned the kiss and banished away her thoughts for tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Sunday: Jon deals with a stubborn Lord.


	50. Jon

**Jon**

It was the sound of footsteps on the ground that woke Jon from his slumber. He had dreamed he was Ghost, rushing through the wet grass, the fat white moon smiling down at him, as he tore apart a rabbit. He still had the taste of blood in his mouth when he freed himself from his furs and went to make water.

When he had washed his face and hands he pulled his white tunic over his head. His boots and breeches followed suit and then he went to search for his blade.

As he stepped outside, he noticed Ghost’s absence. It was not uncommon for his wolf to sleep in front of his tent, but tonight he was hunting.

_Was it a mere coincidence_, he wondered again and searched the camp. They had left Riverrun a week turn ago and the outriders were at least a day’s ride away.

He had also sent out Lord Glover to ride for Harrenhall and to announce their coming to Lord Roose Bolton, who had taken the old ruin with trickery.

Five black towers kissed the blue sky when they reached Harrenhall later that evening. Jon still remembered the stories Old Nan had told him as a young boy. How proud King Harren had believed he could defy King Aegon Targaryen and his sister wives. Oh, wrong he had been when Balerion’s hot flames had cooked him alive.

And looking at these scorched walls, it was not hard to imagine what had happened here. Still, Jon had never imagined Harrenhall this massive. Truly, it didn’t surprise him that the great tourney of Harrenhall had been held in these ancient walls.

He could almost see the sea of colorful tents, the grand gallery which had harbored the royal family and the knights and warriors competing for the heart of a beautiful woman. He knew his father would have shaken his head in disbelief if he had told him about his boyish dreams of knighthood. How he and Robb had fascinated at playing Aemon the Dragonknight.

Thinking of these childhood dreams, made him all the more aware of his failures. Sansa, who was still in the hands of the Lannisters and then there was Rhaenys.

Thinking of Rhaenys, he had instinctively slipped his hand into the vest of his cloak. He couldn’t help but smile when he took a glance at the red ruby in the palm of his hand.

Without Rhaenys he would have joined the Night’s Watch and thrown away his life. Without her he wouldn’t be here, riding to Harrenhall on his brother’s command to bring back his wayward bannerman. No, without Rhaenys he would still be the bastard of Winterfell and probably frozen or killed by a Wildling ax.

Even so, he and Rhaenys could never be together. To think like that pained his heart, but now was not the time to wallow in self-pity.

„You seem worried, my lord,“ Lady Maege Mormont said beside him. „Does Harrenhall frighten you?“

Jon could hear the teasing tone in her voice. In some way, she reminded him of Old Nan, teasing the children for nearly pissing their pants over her silly stories. Well, Arya had never pissed her pants. His brave little sister was never afraid of anything, besides marriage and stitching.

„No,“ Jon replied and forced a smile over his lips. „But this place does not lend to a cheerful mood. Neither does meeting the Lord of the Dreadfort.“

„True,“ quipped Dacey Mormont, who was also riding beside him. „The best way to deal with Lord Bolton is to think of him as a scary beast. Do not show fear in his presence. Well, given your fearsome beast, I am sure Lord Bolton has far more reason to fear you.“

Jon laughed when Ghost stopped and looked up at the lady.

„I think Ghost feels flattered.“

Dacey Mormont grinned. She was a pretty lady, with long shiny black hair and grey eyes. Her smile was pleasant too. Even so, her attempts of seeking his company had done nothing to him.

„Do you think so?“ Dacey said and eyed Jon curiously. „I cannot tell.“

„He is a wolf,“ Maege Mormont snorted with laughter. „I wonder anyone could tell what is going on in such a noble beast's head, my girl?“

Jon laughed and shrugged his shoulders. „That’s a secret, my ladies.“

Lord Roose Bolton met him in the hall of a thousand hearths. Fires crackled and shadows danced against the wall, as a good thousand men mingled among each other. Jon felt uncomfortable, as a strange silence fell over the men seated at the tables, drinking and playing games.

He noticed the sunburst of Karstark on their cloaks and vest, but most of them were clearly Bolton men. It made him wonder if Lord Rickard had already heard of the rumors he had spread. Or perhaps these men belonged to Harrion Karstark, the oldest son that had been a hostage of the Lannisters.

„You are welcome, my lord Snow,“ Roose Bolton greeted with from his seat at the high table. His bright pink coak stood out against his dark tabard. He was a bizarre-looking man. His face was incredibly pale, his eyes even paler and his voice sounded like a snake slithering through the grass. „Do you care for ale or wine?“

„Ser Jon,“ he corrected Lord Bolton and pulled out a chair for himself. He sat down across the Lord of the Dreadfort. Lord Glover was also there, looming in the shadows of the large pillar holding the stone ceiling. There was also a young man beside him. His face was pale and he looked thin and fragile. One could see the bones through his papery skin. „I am Ser Jon and my brother King Robb sent me to speak with you about our future course of action.“

„Lord Glover already told me,“ the young man beside Lord Glover spoke up. It was only when Jon saw the sunburst embellished on his cloak, that he knew who he was. Harrion Karstark. „You want to convince my father to return his men to you, isn't that so?“

„Aye,“ Jon confirmed and noticed Ghost’s presence beside him. His ruby eyes were narrowed and fixed on Roose Bolton. Jon patted his wolf’s head to calm him and he sat down at once. „That is the plan. I am sure he wishes to return his son's bones home and re-take the North from our common enemy…the Ironborn.“

„My father is a stubborn man,“ Harrion Karstark said and drew closer. He leaned on the table, his body trembling. „Only the Kingslayer’s head will satisfy him.“

„Robb has need of the Kingslayer,“ Jon replied. „And I have another offer for him…a marriage to the King in the North.“

Lord Bolton’s grey eyes were narrowed in confusion, but that was no surprise. Jon had instructed Lord Glover not to tell him everything.

„We were under the assumption that our King has wed the Westerling girl?“

„It was a false wedding,“ Jon replied without hesitation."He was drunk and hurt…and what meaning does a false wedding vow given before a Septon mean to a man of the North? Nothing.“

Harrion Karstark shook his head in disbelief. „So it was all a misunderstanding?“

„Aye,“ Jon replied. „No Westerling girl will become Queen in the North. What we need is the North to be united against our enemies. I know my brother made mistakes and your father has reason to hate the Kingslayer, but he is not the only one who lost sons. Tell me, how many more Northmen will lose sons by Ironborn hands?“

„I am with you there,“ Harrion replied. „But I cannot promise anything, Ser Jon.“

Jon was surprised by his agreement. „You agree then? To help me speak to your father?“

„We have been sending out outriders to find Lord Karstark. He was last seen near the Crossing. We ought to send out an envoy. I would lend you some men if you have need of them…,“ Lord Bolton trailed off.

„No need,“ Jon replied. „I think I, Lord Harrion, and Lady Dacey will be able to handle this matter on our own. Robb told me to sent you and Lord Glover to the Neck. He wants you to seek out Lord Reed of Greywater Watch to lead your troops through the Neck. Once you are beyond Moat Cailin I am sure lord Manderly will be willing to help you retake Winterfell, though I am sure I will be able to join you by then.“

If Lord Bolton was displeased with his command it didn’t show on his face.

„It shall be done, as his grace wishes.“

Jon stayed at Harrenhall and could finally sleep beneath a proper roof, but found no hour of peace. Ghost’s constant howling and the presence of the Bolton and Karstark men didn’t ease his fears. The fact, that Lord Tarly was supposedly residing at Duskendale worried him even more.

Soon enough, Lord Tarly might arrive at the gates of Harrenhall to trap them. No, Harrenhall needed to be abandoned and they needed to find Lord Karstark.

It was early in the morn when they left Harrenhall behind them. Roose Bolton promised to do Robb’s bidding, but there was a reason Jon had left Lady Maege Mormont and Lord Glover in charge. She would make sure that Roose Bolton was not acting out of place.

For Jon, Dacey Mormont, and Harrion Karstark this meant an early rising. Before the first light, they set out to find Lord Karstark.

It led them away from Harrenhall, towards the Crossing. Along the way, Jon was presented with a familiar sight: burned-out houses, scorched fields and dead…so many dead.

People they only saw on the road, traveling back and forth in this wartorn land. Jon took the time to speak with these people. Some were glad to tell him about their woes and others cursed him.

_The wolves brought us naught but death! Curse them!_

Jon couldn’t blame them. For them, the Starks must seem the villains. It was a strange way to look at it, but no surprise given that Joffrey had spread such rumors about them.

Yet, it was the whereabouts of Lord Karstark that were the reason for their search, but it took longer than expected. They had ridden in circles for near a week when one of Harrion Karstark’s men returned with good tidings.

„Your Lord Father is not far,“ the outrider told Lord Harrion. „And he is prepared to speak with Lord Snow.“

The sunburst of Karstark was already greeting them when they rode towards the fortified camp that lay beneath the ruins of a destroyed hamlet. Lord Karstark’s pavilion stood out amongst the sea of simple tents and cookfires that rose like clouds into the greyish sky.

It was still autumn and the handful of trees that lined the muddy street were as bare as the fields they had found along the way.

These men he found there were unwashed folk, men who must have been living on the land, pillaging and stealing from those that had been left alive by the Lannister troops.

Jon was not surprised when the outriders protecting the camp brought stale bread and salt for them. Lord Karstark might have agreed to meet with them, but it was quite clear that this would be a hostile meeting.

„Thank you for coming, Egbert,“ Halys Karstark greeted the strongly-build man with a shaggy beard. He wore the sunburst of House Kartark proudly, but his blue eyes glimmered with displeasure. He broke the bread and dipped into salt before putting it into his mouth, thus sealing the deal. „Is my father hale?“

„Your father his hale as ever, my lord,“ the man called Egbert replied and offered the bowl to Jon, who did the same before allowing Dacey and Lady Mormont to do the same. „Lord Karstark is expecting you all.“

Jon thanked the man and they followed him through the camp towards the pavilion which Jon had rightly identified as Lord Karstark’s humble abode. Behind it rose an old Sept with a burned-out ceiling, broken windows and a handful of collapsed shovels stood littered across the street. The guardsmen eyed him with mistrust, but they kept their spears down and did not bother them.

Jon believed Lord Harrion's presence was the reason.

Lord Karstark looked sickly. His long face was thin and his hair nothing but thin spindles of grey and white.

„Father,“ Lord Harrion embraced the elderly man and they exchanged a handful of warm pleasantries while Jon tried not to squirm. „This is Ser Jon.“

„I know,“ the old man grumbled and waved his hand at Jon as if he was some unimportant child. „I remember you, boy.“

„Ser Jon,“ Jon insisted. He was still a bastard, but he was here on Robb’s command. „And I am here to speak in your king’s name.“

Lord Karstark frowned and pointed at the bank near the trestle table. „Please sit down and tell me what your king has to tell me.“

Jon forced a smiled over his lips and sat down. He had to brush aside the silver plate covered with old bread and smelly cheese. There were also two cups, one half-filled and the other empty. Right in front of Lord Karstark stood a flagon of wine and beside it lay a dagger.

„Do you care for some wine?“ Lord Karstark asked and poured more wine into his half-filled up, the red substance nearly spilling over. „Or are you like your father?“

Jon shook his head. „I am here to speak to you, not to indulge in wine. To put it short, my lord: My brother wishes for peace and has given me the means to negotiate with you.“

Lord Karstark's face was pale as a sheet of paper.

„I only want the Kingslayer.“

Jon sighed. „You know that is not possible, my lord. But my brother wishes to give you a chance to regain your honor. Help me retake the North from the Ironborn and in exchange my brother wishes to offer you a match between your daughter, Lady Alys Karstark, and himself.“

Surprise showed on Lord Karstark’s face. „Are you trying to fool me? Isn’t your king married to this Westerling girl?“

„That was a ruse,“ Jon lied. It was easier than expected, but perhaps that was only a result of his time in King’s Landing. „Thus, I am here to make peace with you and ask you to help me get my brother’s bride.“

„My Alys is no one’s bride until I say so,“ Lord Karstark grumbled. „And I remember well how your brother spurred my daughter years ago, leaving her to dance with you. I know why he is offering this marriage...the boy is desperate, isn’t he? With the Tyrells allying themselves with the Lannisters and the Frey lords angered by this ruse of a wedding he has few allies left, hasn’t he?“

„True,“ Jon replied. „But so have you, my lord. Tell me, what are you going to do now? Spent the rest of your life running about the Riverlands, burning, and pillaging. Who are you going to join I wonder? The Lannisters? The Tyrells? I think not.“

„Ser Jon speaks true,“ Harrion added his voice. „Forget your pride. The Kingslayer is not worth losing everything our family fought for…,“ he began, but Lord Karstark’s frown silenced him.

„Your brothers were butchered by the Lannisters, my son.“

„So were a thousand other men, father,“ Harrion replied and touched his father’s arm. „I loved my brothers, but this is not only about revenge but about the survival of our house. Think of Alys. She has only us.“

Lord Karstark said nothing and simply lifted his cup to his lips. He drank deeply and picked up the dagger, slamming it into the wooden table. Then, he looked back at Jon.

„Is it true? Theon Grejoy has killed Ned’s younger sons?“ the old man asked, his eyes piercing into Jon’s. They were Stark eyes and reminded him of his uncle Benjen. Eyes overflowing sadness and bitterness.

„Aye,“ Jon replied. „At least that is what the tales say. There are not many Starks left, which makes it only more reasonable to unite our houses. Let us end this useless quarrel and fight our common enemies…the Ironborn and the Lannisters.“

Lord Karstark dropped his head and stroked his grey beard. The expression on his face was a mixture of rage and guilt.

„The Lannisters will pay?“

Jon nodded his head in confirmation. „We will make them pay. I promise.“

Rickard Karstark snorted.

„Do not give vows you cannot keep, Ser Jon,“ the old man grumbled. He even smiled a little, as he looked over to Halys. „But I agree with your request. I will help you kill the Ironborn. In return, my Alys will marry your King."

…


	51. Rhaenys

**Rhaenys**

Rhaenys' stomach squirmed painfully. Half the time she was vomiting out her broth and the other half of the day she was trying to sleep, while the world beneath her feet was constantly moving. Sea travel was new to her and it was the only way for her to reach Dorne. The roads were far too dangerous and thus Robb Stark had sent her to Seaguard to sail from there for Sunspear.

The ship they had boarded was called _the Mermaid_ and it was in the ownership of Lord Patrek Mallister, the Lord of Seaguard. Said man had been more than cordial towards Rhaenys and had even shared a handful of tidbits about her Lady Mother. _Most graceful_, he had called her, but that had been no consolation to Rhaenys. He had also supported the usurper.

Lady Stark was a different matter. Rhaenys didn’t know how to speak to her. She was no doubt a good woman, who loved her children, but she always fell silent when they were breaking their fast.

Every time, there was this terrible silence. It was quite clear that Lady Stark felt uncomfortable in her presence.

Yet, they would soon arrive at Dorne and then they had to appear united. How else could she convince Lady Stark or even Robb Stark to support a brother she hardly knew?

_You are a terrible coward_, Rhaenys told herself after she had emptied her fast once more into the wooden bucket beside her bed. _You are afraid of your own kin._

Yet, that was not the only matter that occupied her mind these days. There was also Jon Snow, who was creeping inside her head all the time.

His refusal to allow more between them had not surprised her but had hurt her nevertheless. The pressure that was resting on her shoulders was not making it any easier for her.

_I have no time for this_, she reminded herself and rinsed her mouth. Then, she went back to her bed and fastened her cloak around her shoulder. She was in dire need of fresh air after spending a half-day in her chamber.

The stairs seemed never-ending, as she climbed up to the entrance of her cabin. Outside, she found the ship's hands and sailors at work. The wind was blowing hard. They were well on their way to Dorne and the seagull circling on the sky told her that the coast was not far away.

The wind was strong, pulling the hood of her cloak backward, as she moved along the wooden railing of the ship, to get a better look at the sea below. The water was a deep blue color, at times nearly black. Spray spilled forth, as the ship parted the wave and the rushing sound of water filled her ears.

It was a soothing sound and she closed her eyes for a brief moment. Then, she sucked in a deep breath and went to the common room. She was in dire need of something to drink and perhaps something to eat. She also ought to speak to Lady Stark and prepare for her meeting with her brother.

The table was silent as ever when they were breaking their fast that evening. Only half an hour ago, the captain had informed them that they would soon make port at Starfall. Rhaenys‘ heart had nearly jumped out of her chest when she had heard this, but then she had shifted her attention back to Lady Stark, who had finally looked up from her bowl of gravy.

Their eyes met.

„The sea travel is not becoming you, are you?“ Lady Catelyn asked curtly, probably lacking a better topic.

„No,“ Rhaenys replied and jerked her head at the bowl. „But you are also lacking in appetite, my lady.“

Lady Stark grimaced. „I would have preferred to stay in Riverrun. I know nothing of these lands, Princess.

„Neither do I,“ Rhaenys admitted and smiled. „But that is part of the adventure.“

Lady Stark sighed. „I am too old for such adventures.“

Rhaenys was barely twenty named days old and she couldn’t help but agree with that notion. She felt at times as if she had lived a whole lifetime.

The sky was bright blue when they arrived at Sunspear. Rhaenys had read many stories about her home, but seeing with her own eyes left her with a strange feeling. There was sadness, but also anger rushing through her as she beheld this maze of towers and high stone buildings. The heat felt similar to King’s Landing, but also different.

The heat was stronger, the sun looked like a cooked egg, and the smell of spice and fish hung in the air. No one greeted them as they entered the city with their hair and clothes hidden by long flowing cloaks and hoods to hide their faces.

They were also given horses. Guardsmen armed with spears and garbed in golden, orange, and red-striped cloaks led them into the city. The citizens of Sunspear barely paid them any attention as they passed one gate after another.

After the sixth gate, Rhaenys realized that this city was a maze, overlooked by three large towers. She had learned about them as a child, but she had forgotten their names.

At last, they arrived at a wide-ranging palace with high walls of a cream color and gilded roofs. The smell of flowers filled her nose, as she was helped from her horse by a man with amber skin and dark eyes.

He eyed her curiously, before waving his hand at the nearby gate. It was large and narrow. The door was two stories high and made a croaking sound, as the guards pulled it open.

Inside they found a spacious courtyard lightened by chandeliers that hung on each side of high pillars holding a stone ceiling that spread in all directions. Guards rushed back and forth like ants, but it was not their presence Rheanys was searching for.

No, she was searching for a familiar face.

„So, you are Princess Rhaenys?“ someone addressed Rhaenys rather bluntly. It was a tall lady with mousy-brown hair, garbed in breeches and a spear in hand.

Rhaenys had thought her to be one of the guards. She was also taken back by this blunt greeting.

„You should introduce yourself first, Obara,“ another, a much softer voice, added and pulled down the hood of her cloak. It was a younger woman, with a long feline face, sharp cheekbones, and dark shiny hair arranged in a long braid.

She was smiling like a cat, as she eyed Rhaenys with curiosity.

„Of course,“ Obara grumbled and dipped her head in reverence. „I am Lady Obara Sand. Well met, Princess Rhaenys. And this self-important lady is my sister Nym...Nymeria Sand.“

„Nymeria,“ the young woman introduced herself and smiled at Rhaenys. "Well met."

„And you are to me?“ Rhaenys asked in confusion.

„Oh, of course,“ Nym replied. „We are cousins.“

Understanding washed over Rhaenys. A thousand emotions warred inside her heart, as she eyed these two girls. Her uncle’s children.

„I heard there are many more of you,“ Rhaenys replied with a smile. „So, you are my uncle's daughters?“

„We are all his get,“ Obara confirmed and lowered her head in greeting towards Lady Stark. „Speaking of my father…there are a great many people who wish to meet you, cousin. As for you, my lady, my sister Lady Nymeria will be pleased to show you to your chambers. There you may rest and join us later for supper. Prince Doran and Princess Arianne will surely be pleased to meet you.“

Lady Catelyn seemed very uncomfortable. „I thank you, my lady…Sand. I am indeed exhausted."

Nym grinned like a cat and lead the way: Rhaenys was promptly pulled along by Obara, who seemed to have no fear whatsoever to strike up a conversation with her.

„They are all pissing themselves with excitement, cousin. Do not be surprised when one of them faints.“

Strangely, her cousin’s sharp remark helped to ease Rhaenys nerves a little.

Her brother greeted her in a long hall, made of pale stones, and held by red pillars. Exotic flowers grew along the walls and scones of silver lightened her path. There were also a handful of guardsmen standing on each side of the door, which had been closed soon after her entrance.

Rhaenys could scarcely keep her heartbeat in place when she neared the good dozen of stone steps that lead up to a raised platform. Above it loomed the bright sun disk of House Martell, shining like sunlight itself when the flames of the scones fell upon it.

Yet, it was not the beauty of this kingly hall that caught her attention, but the young man seated atop the high seat carved from white cedarwood.

He looked much younger than he ought to, his skin golden like Rhaenys‘ whenever she had spent much time in the sun. His face was even-shaped and a bit sharp around the chin, but his soft silver hair helped to soften his sharp features. His garb was rather simple for a prince: a black doublet with a red dragon on the front, held in place by a leather belt. His breeches were black and worn out, as were his boots.

It were his eyes that betrayed their relation. Dark indigo eyes with a hint of purple.

Yet, the young man didn’t appear at all like a king, when his purple gaze fell upon Rhaenys. No, she saw a myriad of emotions dancing in his eyes. There was a deep sadness, but also overwhelming happiness betrayed by the wet tears shining in his eyes.

„You are welcome,“ her brother said and tightened his grip upon the handle of his chair. „Sister.“

Rhaenys noticed the presence of several more people. They were standing below the raised platform and hiding away beneath the high pillars.

There was a young woman with billowing black hair that framed a full face and crimson lips. Her robes, made of layers of golden and yellow silk, sparkled like the stars on the sky. Her jewels were even grander to look upon, almost worthy of a queen. Beside her stood a slightly taller girl, the blood of Aegon Targaryen. This was no doubt her Aunt Daenerys, but she also showed a great resemblance to a certain Targaryen Queen, Rhaenys had once seen on a picture, a queen dressed in the flowing robes of a Septa: Queen Naerys Targaryen.

Her Aunt didn’t wear the robes of a Septa, but her dress of lilac was much plainer compared to Princess Arianne. Only the circle of crystal resting atop her head marked her as a queen. Left from her cousin Princess Arianne stood no doubt her uncle, Prince Viserys Targaryen. He too wore finery of black-and-red, but his face was much sharper and there was an unpleasant glint in his lilac eyes.

It didn’t seem particularly pleased to see her. Not like the man looming above him. He was very tall and had shiny dark hair like her cousin. His dark eyes glinted with happiness, as he eyed her from the distance. By his robes of orange, gold, and yellow, she believed that this was her uncle Oberyn.

„Rhaenys,“ said her Aunt, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over them. Rhaenys hadn’t even noticed it. She had been too absorbed by all these new impressions. „May I call you Rhaenys?“

Rhaenys was taken back by so much familiarity. But she couldn’t deny such a request, could she? Not when her Aunt was smiling at her so sweetly.

„You may call me Rhaenys,“ Rhaenys replied politely, her gaze flickering back to Aegon, who looked still frozen like a statue. „And how am I to address you, your grace?“

„Brother,“ Aegon finally replied and rose to his feet. He was trembling, as he moved down the steps. „If you would?“

Rhaenys stood frozen like a statue of stone when Aegon touched her shoulders ever gently, obviously to pull her into an embrace. Rhaenys hesitated at first, but then she returned the gesture, though their embrace didn’t last long, for the other people soon demanded her attention.

There was for one her cousin Arianne, who kissed her cheeks. Her Aunt Daenerys who embraced her even tighter and her sour Uncle Viserys, who kissed her hand as if it was a dead fish. At last, her uncle Oberyn came to appraise her.

„You look a lot like your mother,“ he said in a trembling voice and touched her cheek.“I thought her ghost had returned for a brief moment.“

Rhaenys felt for her uncle, but the idea of being compared to a ghost filled her with discomfort. She was not her mother, she was herself.

Even so, she couldn’t bring herself to ruin this reunion.

„Where is my uncle Doran?“

„My brother is not very healthy,“ her Uncle Oberyn explained and jerked his head at the closed door at the other side of the hall. „But he will take supper with us. Then, we may talk in peace. Perhaps you wish to refresh yourself and garb yourself in fresh clothing. Daenerys tried her best to find something fitting for you.“

Rhaenys was pleased with that offer. She would need some time to compose herself and clear her mind.

„I thank you, Daenerys.“

Her Aunt Daenerys quickly took her hand and pulled her along.

The chambers assigned to her were larger than the ones she had in King‘ Landing. There was a featherbed, a canopy lining the walls, thick colorful carpets, and door leading out to the gardens. The smell of flowers and the sea filled her nose, as she stepped through the door and descended down the steps. She slipped out of her boots and put her naked feet on the ground. The grass felt so soft and wet. She wanted to do nothing more than to sit down and enjoy the cool breeze, but her aunt demanded her attention.

„You should take a look at the dresses we have prepared for you,“ Daenerys offered kindly, as she led Rhaenys back to the featherbed and the strongbox placed beside it. There, spread over the bed lay a good dozen dresses in all colors. They were cut in the Dornish style, wider in cut and made of a flowing and soft cloth that helped to ease the heat. „What do you think?“

Rhaenys touched the cloth and smiled at her Aunt. „There are so many splendid dresses. It is so hard to choose. Would you suggest one?“

Her Aunt’s face beamed as bright as a star. She pursed her lips and picked up a red dress. „I think red would look lovely on you. You have such pretty dark hair.“

Rhaenys was already starting to like her Aunt. It seemed they had a similar taste.

„I shall head your advice, Daenerys,“ Rhaenys replied and eyed the dress closer. It was made of a dark red color and had long sleeves embroidered with golden flowers. „But before I put on this fine dress, I should have a proper bath.“

„A proper bath you shall have,“ her Aunt promised. "Let me show you the way."

Her Aunt’s promise was not empty. Not long after she found herself being escorted to the bathing rooms, a large chamber with small holes chiseled into the marble stone. The water was pleasantly warm when she climbed into the bath and sighed in relief at the sensation.

It had been weeks; that she had last seen a proper bath and it might help to clear her confused mind. The meeting with her brother had been amicable enough, but even so, Rhaenys couldn’t help but feel a certain distance to Aegon.

She had only spent a handful of moments with her Aunt and had felt a kinship with her, but Aegon was her own blood. Shouldn’t there be some instant connection? Or was it perhaps her own fault? Had she grown so numb in her heart that she couldn’t even love her own brother?

„You are not very talkative, are you?“ her Aunt asked rather bluntly, but not in an unfriendly manner. „I can understand that…I didn’t know how to speak to all these people when I first came here. Aegon feels the same way.“

Rhaenys nodded her head at the girl seated across her, her wet hair clinging to her chin.

„You are wed to my brother," Rhaenys said, lacking for a better topic. „Do you care for him?“

Daenerys bit her lips as if to ponder her question. At last, she spoke again.

„I didn’t know him well when I wed him,“ her Aunt replied. „In fact, I disliked him for a while. That is until he proved his loyalty to me. I shall tell you about it, but first I must show you something…my children.“

Rhaenys didn’t know what to say and eyed her Aunt more closely. She was very slender of built and so very young, barely older than fifteen.

„Forgive me, Daenerys,“ Rhaenys replied hesitatingly. „But you do not look like someone who has recently carried children.“

A hint of sadness showed in her aunt’s violet eyes.

„Not human children,“ her Aunt replied. „I have yet to bear your brother an heir, but I have three children of a different kind. Three dragons.“

It was not long after that her Aunt led her into a chamber with scorched walls. The smell of smoke and burned meat filled her nose, but the sight that presented itself to her was wonderful to behold.

Her heart nearly stopped when she laid eyes at the three creatures. One, a pale dragon was clinging to the stone ceiling, puffs of hot air leaving its nostrils. A second dragon, black like the night, came slithering over the ground to greet Daenerys. The third dragon was green and golden, its spiky tail curled around its body.

Daenerys smiled proudly when the black dragon rubbed his head against her arm. „This one is Balerion. The other two are Vhagar and Meraxes. We decided to call them after the Conqueror’s dragons.“

Rhaenys could only nod her head in disbelief. „You couldn’t have chosen a better name, Daenerys.“

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Jon.


	52. Jon

**Jon**

Jon felt the sweat clinging to his body. Everywhere he looked, he found green foliage or these small trees that reached high into the sky. Jon’s cloak got caught in their pesky branches.

The mud was even worse. More than once he got stuck in the mud. His boots were already soaked and judging by the curling path before them he was sure that there was still a long way lying ahead of them.

It made him wish he was one of the crannogmen, people of slender build, which would make it much easier to move through these lands covered by greenery and infested with swarms of flies.

Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch, had sent them about twenty men to lead them through the wilderness. Jon himself had chosen about two-hundred men to accompany him on this dangerous mission to find a way around Moat Cailin.

For half a day, they had wandered through this hostile wilderness, wondering when they would finally see the sun again.

Their guide had assured them more than once that they were close.

_We shall be there before nightfall, my lord. _

At last, after climbing up another hill, their guide stopped.

„We are nearly there, my lord,“ their guide told Jon and jerked his head at the wilderness looming ahead. Jon could see nothing. Neither the sky nor the stars. Only the thick crowns of the trees and the darkness that was sure to come. „I am sure of it.“

„Good,“ Jon replied and waved his hand at Lady Dacey Mormont. She had been walking next to Ghost and in company of her men. Right behind her, were thirty men that belonged to Lord Glover and at last sixty men that were sworn to House Karstark. Yet, the most important members of their party were the two ravens kept in golden cages. The two ravens Lady Dacey had been taking care of with utmost patience. „I think it is time to send out the ravens.“

One was meant for Lord Karstark and Lord Bolton and the other one was meant for Lord Manderly.

„How long till nightfall?“ Jon asked their guide when he noticed that the thick foliage was finally allowing a glimpse at the darkening sky. „It is hard to tell.“

„An hour or two,“ the guide replied and pointed at the sky. „I am sure of it.“

Jon nodded his head and sucked in a deep breath. He brushed his hand over Ghost’s head and looked out at the dark ruins.

A strange mist was hanging over the broken towers, but he could see pale light gleaming in the broken windows.

Someone was there. The Ironborn. The enemy.

„The fog should help us,“ their guide told hem. „According to Lord Manderly’s last raven, the Ironborn have taken most of their fleet with them when they left Moat Cailin. The rumors say that Balon Greyjoy perished by a terrible sickness.“

Jon gritted his teeth. He wished he could kill him with his own hands, but there was another person he wanted to kill even more. Theon Greyjoy, who had murdered his brothers.

„Bless the gods for his death,“ Jon replied at last and swept his gaze over the men assembled around him. „But there are many more of these Ironborn in the North.“

„For sure,“ Dacey Mormont agreed with a grin and touched her ax. „My lady is already thirsting for blood.“

„So is my sword,“ Lord Glover grumbled and touched his sword. „Let us hope the old gods will bless our battle.“

„I am sure they will,“ Jon replied and cast his gaze back to the sky. He could see the first stars glittering on the distant horizon and the hints of a half-moon. „Now let us rest and wait for battle.“

They hid away in the woods, watching the ruins all the time. The fog grew only thicker as the night drew closer, but that would be to their advantage.

The battle began with the sound of snapping arrows, as they had struggled climbing through the underwood.

Branches of the trees clung to his cloak and the rustling of the leaves accompanied him at every step.

Only the touch of his blade in his hand and the presence of Ghost helped to calm Jon’s nerves somewhat.

He had killed before, but he had never led men into battle. Strangely, it felt as if he was about to lose his maidenhead again.

Exhaling deeply, he pushed forward and freed himself from the grasp of the branches, ready to meet his enemy.

Moat Cailin hadn't changed. Great blocks of black basalt lay scattered and were submerged in the ground, the three broken towers hidden behind thick layers of mist. To Jon, they looked rather grotesque, all broken and bent, like Sansa’s puppets after Arya had gotten hold of them.

As they neared the castle, the sound of snapping arrows had only intensified. It seemed the enemy was occupied with Lord Bolton’s and Lord Kartark’s host men. There was also Lord Manderly, who had promised to secure the ships of the Ironborn.

All the while the enemy seemed completely oblivious to their presence.

They came upon them like a wolf. Quick and without mercy.

His first victim was a young Ironborn man.

His dark eyes had widened in fear when Jon had freed his blade.

Yet, Jon had no time for mercy. Boy or not, he Ironborn were their enemies. Theon and his men had murdered Bran and Rickon!

Suddenly, it was so easy to kill. The next man he killed was armed with a large warhammer that had missed Jon’s head by an inch. He had ducked away in time and Ghost had given him the rest by hurling himself atop the man.

Jon had heard his high-pitched screams ringing in his ears, as he buried his blade in the stomach of another man. This one had been much older and stronger in build.

It was with Dacey Mormont’s help that he had easily managed to take care of this enemy.

„This was the last one,“ Lady Dacey replied with a smile, but held up her bloody ax as if the next enemy was ready to appear at any moment. „We have secured this tower.“

Jon nodded his head and went back to the staircase. The torches were the only source of light and as he looked down he only saw darkness. He could also hear the distant clamor of battle and through the broken windows, he could see fires lightening up the darkness.

_Lord Manderly kept his promise._

Jon led the way and Dacey and the other men followed suit.

Dacey and the other men followed. They spent the next hours scouring the woods surrounding the castle for a sign of the enemy but found nothing more than shadowcats and squirrels.

When they returned to the ruin, their men had already scaled the walls and had exchanged the Kraken of House Greyjoy with the snarling direwolf of House Stark.

The battle was over and the men were in good spirits, but Jon felt no sense of relief.

He was strangely afraid of returning to Winterfell. He feared to find it like in his dreams. Foreign and devoid of the people he loved.

„You ought to clean yourself, Ser Jon,“ Dacey Mormont remarked after she had helped him pull off his helmet. His sweaty hair was clinging to his face and his chainmail and cloak were soiled with mud and blood. His heart was still racing and his hand instinctively sought Ghost’s head. „Lady Manderly, Lord Bolton, and Lord Karstark want to speak to you.“

His body felt heavy and he wished for a proper bath, but there was no time to waste.

„You are right, my lady. I must clean myself and then I shall meet with them.“

By the time, Jon had finished Lord Bolton’s, Lord Karstark’s and Lord Manderly’s men had already arrived at the camp.

The sound of laughter and the rustling of cookfires was filling his ears, as he sat down with these high lords that probably thought of him as nothing more than a bastard knight.

Jon knew it was wrong, but he found that he liked his new position.

„I suggest riding for White Harbour,“ Lady Wylla Manderly said after she had taken a gulp from her cup of wine. „Winterfell is nothing more than a ruin and the storms have only grown worse in the last weeks. You are all honored guests and my grandfather sent me to share the newest tidings with you.“

Jon took a sip from his cup and enjoyed the taste. Lord Bolton thought otherwise.

„Why not share these important tidings with all of us, my Lady?“

Jon lost his taste for the wine at once and grimaced.

„We would be able to reach White Harbour within a day or two,“ Jon replied. „There is no need to hurry. Perhaps these tidings are not meant for everyone’s ears.“

If Lord Bolton was insulted by Jon’s words it didn’t show on his face. It remained indifferent as ever.

„As you wish,“ Lord Bolton replied. „But you have to understand. I am eager to return home.“

„First I must secure Moat Cailin,“ Jon replied and shifted his attention back to Lady Mormont. „I intend to stay here for a while longer to speak with Lord Howland Reed. That is why I want you and Lord Glover to ride to Torrhen’s Square and Deepwood Motte without me. I am sure Lord Karstark could spare some men?“

„Sure,“ Lord Karstark replied. „My men are ready to help to remove this scum from the North.“

„That is good to hear,“ Jon replied and looked back to Lord Bolton. „And you, my Lord Bolton, I want you to go to ride for White Harbour and wait for me there. The men you deem unnecessary may return to the Dreadfort.“

Lord Bolton showed no hint of emotion.

He simply lowered his head in understanding.

„I shall do as you say.“

That night, Jon woke with blood in his mouth and knew at once that Ghost had gone hunting. When he stepped out of his tent he saw the first hints of dawn on the distant horizon.

The chill could have told him that as well, but he had hardly felt it while he had been curled up beneath his warm furs.

Smiling, he swept his gaze over the camp. Only a handful of men were awake, cooking stew over a cookfire, taking care of their weapons, or just sitting around talking.

Jon’s stomach squirmed at the smell. He had eaten in his dreams, but he had yet to break his fast.

Thinking of food, he suddenly felt a familiar presence. It was as if someone had called for him, which made him turn his head to the thick woods that grew beyond Moat Cailin.

First, he only heard the rustling of the leaves and then he saw an old friend. The white fur was easily visible through the green foliage.

Ghost was beside him within the blink of a moment.

„Enough, boy,“ Jon told his wolf and brushed his hand over his head. His mouth was wet and bloody. „You are squashing me.“

His wolf gave a howl and turned his head.

Suddenly, a dozen riders appeared. They were clad in green cloaks and armed with nets and frog spears.

Their leader road beneath the banner of a green lizard and was seated on a small hairy horse.

His bright green eyes found Jon's.

_This must be Howland Reed_, Jon guessed and rubbed his shoulders against the chill.

White mist rose from his lips, as he climbed up to the dirty road to meet the riders along the way. More and more men had risen from their seats and were eying the crannogmen with curiosity.

There were at least a hundred of them, but none of them spoke. Only their Lord.

„My Lord,“ the small man greeted him with a sad smile after he had climbed from his saddle. He bowed his head in greeting. „It is a great pleasure to meet you. I am Howland Reed, the Lord of Greywater Watch.“

Like most crannogmen, Lord Howland Reed was a man of slender build. His face was long and his eyes were large and green like grass.

„I am no Lord, only a knight,“ Jon corrected him and returned the gesture. He was very excited to meet his father’s old friend. „You may call me Ser Jon or just Jon, my lord.“

„Ser Jon,“ Lord Howland Reed replied and smiled at him. It was both sad and happy. „Please call me Howland. Ned and Lyanna always called me Howland.“

Jon was surprised to hear him speak about his Aunt. Even his own father had always avoided speaking of her.

„Howland,“ Jon replied and waved his hand at the ruin looming behind him. „I am thankful you came so quickly. Would you join me for a proper breakfast?“

„It would be my pleasure,“ Lord Reed replied. „I am quite famished.“

Jon chuckled. „Good to hear. Your men shall be taken care of.“

Not long after, they found themselves seated in the Gatehouse Tower. There was a round wooden table, a handful of candles, and two chairs. The breakfast was simple, broth with hard bread and a cup of wine.

Lord Reed didn’t complain and welcomed the wine, but Jon still felt a little anxious in his presence.

„It has been a long time that I had proper wine,“ Lord Reed replied sadly and placed the up aside. His green eyes sought Jon’s across the table. „Well, that is not why am here. We are here to speak about serious matters, right?“

„Indeed,“ Jon replied. „I need your men to guard Moat Cailin. You are the only one who can endure this bog-infested land without dying from the sweating sickness. I also have need of my men to secure the North on behalf of my brother, King Robb.“

Lord Reed nodded his head in acknowledgment. „You have my full agreement, Ser Jon. You shall have as many men as you need.“

Jon was not surprised by his forward offer. His father had always told him how loyal the crannogmen were and yet they were looked down on by many a man in the North.

Jon knew that feeling.

It also broke his heart to know that Lord Reed’s children had been in Winterfell.

He felt he had no right to speak about them, but he knew it needed to be done.

It was what his father would have done.

„Lord Reed,“ he said and sucked in a deep breath. Then, he continued to speak. „I am truly sorry for the loss of your children. I also lost two brothers.“

„I thank you,“ Lord Reed replied. „But I do not think they are dead. My Meera and my Jojen are not so easily killed.“

Jon didn’t know what to say.

Perhaps sometimes it was better to say nothing at all.

A moment of silence passed between them.

Lord put a spoon of broth into his mouth and swallowed.

„I wept when I heard of Ned’s death,“ Lord Reed added. „You too have my heartfelt consolation, my boy. He was one of the last friends I had left in the world. Now all of them are gone.“

This sparked Jon’s curiosity, but he didn’t want to appear too forward.

„Your other friends, my lord?“

„Aye,“ Lord Reed replied. „Benjen and Lyanna. I met them before I met Ned.“

Jon nodded his head. He had heard about his uncle’s disappearance. Deep in his heart, he still hoped that he might be alive.

„You knew my Aunt Lyanna well?“

„I did,“ Lord Reed replied. His green eyes were shining with tears. „The loveliest lady I have ever known. You have much of her, my boy. More so than, Ned.“

Lord Reed’s answer confused Jon.

„I do not understand,“ Jon replied and tried to overplay his confusion with a smile. „They always compared me to Lord Stark. It is part of the reason, Lady Stark dislikes me so.“

„So, Ned didn’t tell you after all these years?“ Lord Reed said, his voice laced with displeasure. He was shaking his head. „I thought you knew.“

Jon was utterly confused.

„Tell me what?“

Lord Reed swallowed thickly and lifted the cup to his lips. He drank deeply and quietly.

Again, there was this terrible silence.

Jon waited patiently. Until he could no longer take it.

„Lord Reed.“

Lord Reed finally lifted his head and looked at him again. Tears were rolling down his cheeks like a river.

„The truth about your mother,“ Lord Reed whispered. „A dangerous truth.“

Jon couldn’t make sense of Lord Reed’s words. He had always expected that his mother’s past was a terrible one, but that she could pose a danger was hard to believe. The thought was tantalizing and scary at the same time.

„Tell me,“ Jon replied without thinking. „Tell me about this dangerous truth.“

Lord Reed closed his eyes and opened them again.

„It all started at Harrenhall. I was just a young man back then…three squires thought it particularly funny to humiliate me by kicking and throwing me in the mud. Well, Lyanna and Benjen didn’t allow it. They paid them a lesson they never forgot, each in their own way. Lord Benjen gave one of them a broken nose and Lady Lyanna defeated their lords in the joust. Three times did she win, three times for each of the squires. Each time, she refused the ransom and told their lords to teach their squires honor. Thus, she won back my honor as well.“

Jon had listened in awe. It sounded like one of Sansa’s songs, but then he had heard from the servants that Lady Lyanna had been half a horse. Perhaps it had been luck or perhaps it had been skill, but it was an admirable and daring thing to do for a woman. So much was sure.

„Yet, what does all of this have to do with my mother?“

„Everything,“ Lord Reed replied. „Because it was through this mummery that she met Prince Rhaegar Targaryen or at least that is what she told us. She was dying you see…childbed fever.“

Jon couldn’t describe it. It felt as if someone had dipped his head into ice water. Lord Reed’s words had not even really reached his ears, for they made no sense.

„You are lying.“

Lord Reed gave him a pitiful look.

„So, I am the child of a monster,“ Jon said bitterly and grabbed the table beneath him. He felt both anger and overwhelming despair, quarreling with each other for dominance. „Is that why Lord Stark didn’t tell me? Was he too ashamed?“

„No,“ Lord Reed grabbed his arm before he could run away. „No, my boy. You are mistaken…Prince Rhaegar never raped Lyanna…as far as we knew she chose to marry him by the Old Gods.“

Jon stared back at him in disbelief. He had spoken as if that made everything alright. His head was pounding and he felt the sudden urge to run away.

„I know…,“ Lord Reed replied and tried to touch his arm again. „I know it hurts…,“ he was bout to continue, but Jon cut him off, all anger finally bursting forward.

He felt dizzy as he pushed the man’s hand away.

„You know nothing!“ he spat at the man. „Nothing at all!“

Then, he bolted down the stairs. His mind was a storm of confusion, but he somehow managed to saddle his horse and shrugged off the squire that was pestering him with unnecessary questions.

Ghost could barely keep up with him, as he urged his horse to a faster pace. The cries of his men followed him, but he ignored them.

Their words were like the wind to them.

The sun was standing at its highest point when he decided that he had ridden far enough.

Exhausted, he slipped from his saddle and found himself somewhere in the wilderness.

Exhaling deeply, he sat down on the grass to calm himself. Ghost came to join him then, his breathing labored from the fast pace Jon had set.

Hot tears slithered down his cheeks, freezing in the chilly wind coming from the east. Ghost brushed his wet nose against his cheek, as Jon slipped his hand into the vest of his cloak.

When he opened his hand he found Rhaenys‘ ruby. In the past, the ruby had given him comfort, but now he felt a mixture of despair and disgust.

Not at Rhaenys, but at himself and the world around him.

Lord Stark had lied to him all his life and had treated him like a fool.

_Did he not trust me_, he thought bitterly. _Did he think I would betray him?_

That hurt the most.

And there were also his blood parents. His mother had been there all along, hidden in the crypts of Winterfell. The thought made him long to go there and to hide away at the same time.

And his father…his father was Prince Rhaegar Targaryen.

And Rhaenys was his half-sister.

It confused him more than words could say. He had lain with his half-sister, yet he had never noticed any such kindship.

Had Lord Reed lied after all?

Or perhaps it was in his blood? The Targaryens of old had often lain with their sisters.

Jon didn’t know what to think. He ought to feel disgusted, but he was not. Even so, he knew it was wrong.

This he believed to know or perhaps he had never known anything at all.

His talk with Lord Reed had proven that.

It was the pouring rain that called him back to the present. Ghost was close as always, his wet tongue licking over his cheek.

„I know, boy,“ he replied and pulled himself back to his feet. Soon enough, he was back in his saddle. „We must go back. We have to retake the North. We have to go home.“

…


	53. Aegon

**Aegon**

Aegon could barely look at his food. The presence of his sister made it hard to concentrate or speak. He simply couldn’t stop looking at her.

All his life he had wanted to meet her and now that she was finally here, he could barely form a proper thought nor use his mouth in a manner that should be expected of a young man his age.

His sister looked nothing like him, safe for the golden skin they both shared, though Aegon’s skin was slightly darker in shade, probably because he had spent the majority of his youth in Essos.

His uncle Oberyn had said that his sister looked like his mother, which made it even harder not to stare at her while she was trying to enjoy her bowl of fresh fruits and wine.

She was much taller than Rhaenys and certainly showed a great resemblance to the woman he had seen in the House of the Undying. She had a pretty heart-shaped face, framed by dark-brown, nearly black hair. The flowing crimson dress suited her rosy lip, but he couldn’t help but be fascinated by her eyes. They looked different than their mother's eyes. Her eyes were black with a hint of purple, but perhaps that was only his imagination.

„Aegon,“ Daenerys‘ soft voice called him back to the present. Her hand was touching his shoulder in a soothing gesture, but it was no use against the fear residing in his heart. „What do you think about the peaches?“

Aegon gave her a confused look. „Peaches?“

Daenerys sighed and smiled at Rhaenys, who sat cross-legged on her cushioned seat, a peach in hand.

They had taken the first dish in a small chamber and were still waiting for his uncle Oberny and his Uncle Doran.

Only Daenerys, Aegon, Viserys and Arianne were here.

„Right,“ Aegon replied and brushed his hair out of his face. He forced a smile over his lips, as he looked at Rhaenys. „Do you like peaches?“

Rhaenys returned his smile rather hesitatingly. „I do not dislike them, but that is the first time I had a taste of them. King Robert didn’t like fruits. He preferred the boars he killed during the hunt. I supposed it was fitting that he was killed by one.“

Aegon couldn’t help but chuckle. „I heard he was very fat.“

„He was a pig,“ Rhaenys said bitterly. It seemed Aegon had been mistaken. His sister was not jesting. She was angry with him. „A pig that soiled everything our ancestors built. And the lies he told about our father…I hated him for that the most.“

„I am sorry you had to be in his…,“ Aegon began, but Rhaenys silenced him with a shake of her head.

„Spare me your excuses, brother,“ she replied and took a bite from the peach. She chewed quickly and swallowed hard. „I am here to speak about the future and not wallow in self-pity.“

Aegon was taken back by her words, though he should have expected such a reaction. He had left his sister alone with the enemy while he had been safe. She had every right to be angry with him.

Still, he wanted to try making it up to her.

„I don’t want to talk about the past either, but let me try to make it up to you.“

Rhaenys chuckled and lifted her cup to her lips. She drank as their eyes met across the table.

When she had placed the cup back upon the table, she smiled.

„I think I know a way to make it up to me, but that is not why I am here,“ Rhaenys replied. „I am here to speak with you on behalf of Robb Stark…,“ she began, but the croaking sound of the door made them all turn their heads.

It were his uncle Oberyn and his Uncle Doran.

His uncle Doran was seated in his wheelchair, a silken cloth hiding his swollen limps. He also wore a long-sleeved tunic that hid his swollen hands.

He took his seat at the head of the table. Silver plates were laid out and a handful of guardsmen stood at each door.

The servants quickly carried the plates away and returned with the next dish, some sort of cold soup with a spicy taste.

Aegon washed down the first spoon with a cup of wine while his uncle took over the conversation.

He had known him only for a very short time, but he was a man of measured words and such kinds of words he used now as he spoke to Rhaenys.

„I am glad we can finally be here together to plan the future.“

Then, he shifted his attention to Rhaenys. „Especially, your presence here is a blessing, dear niece.“

Rhaenys‘ gaze softened at once and she lowered her head in reverence.

„I thank you, dear uncle,“ she replied. „I am also pleased to be here and I am glad we can move on to the topic at hand. The coming war. As I said before, Robb Stark is soon going to face the Lannisters and will hopefully survive this fight. I think this would be the best opportunity to strike.“

„Your brother Aegon knows so much,“ her uncle Oberyn added with an approving nod while the servants were pouring them wine and serving the next dish, roasted salmon with fresh salat and mint. „And only a handful of weeks ago, Lord Connington sailed across the Narrow Sea to lead the Golden Company over to Westeros. They are to land here in Dorne and your brother plans to attack Stormlands. If we are lucky the Lannisters won’t even know what is happening to them.“

„The Lannisters are not stupid, especially not Tywin, dear uncle,“ Rhaenys replied as fast as a whip. „Hate them as much as you want, but I have spent long enough among them to know what they are capable of. I doubt Tywin would leave his rear open like that.“

„Even so,“ Aegon felt the need to argue. He had just met Rhaenys, but he was still the King and he had to act like one if people were meant to take him seriously. „I cannot sit around here forever. Better to try something than to do nothing at all. We have already waited for nearly sixteen long years.“

Rhaenys' dark eyes met his across the table, her food still untouched. „I am well aware, dear brother, but I wonder if it wouldn’t be better if you focused on securing allegiances. Dorne will not be enough to take the Seven Kingdoms.“

„We are already working on that,“ Daenerys assured Rhaenys with a warm smile. „One of Lord Tyrell’s sons announced his coming. It seems the Tyrells are not as loyal to the Lannisters as we thought. It seems they are playing both sides.“

„Or trying to secure the best outcome,“ his uncle Oberyn scoffed. „The Fat Flower has never been satisfied. I remember that he asked for your hand in marriage, dear niece, before you were even out of your swaddling clothing. I wouldn’t be surprised if they renew their offer.“

Aegon couldn’t help but notice the displeasure washing over his sister’s face. 

When her eyes sought his across the table his suspicions were confirmed. „You have already made marriage plans after I have barely escaped from my first betrothal?“

Aegon felt as if his mouth had gone dry. 

He opened his mouth, but Rhaenys interrupted him.

„Your silence tells me all I need to know,“ Rhaenys replied angrily. „Do you know how it felt to betrothed to Joffrey? He was younger than me, but he would have raped and tortured me every night if I had ever been wed to him. Luckily for me, he took a liking to Robb Stark’s foolish sister or I would not be here, brother. I doubt the Tyrells are half as bad, but I will not be another pawn in your game, even if you are my dear brother.“

Aegon had known that Joffrey was bad, but he hadn’t expected such a monstrous description. Guilt as sharp as Valyrian steel cut deep into his heart and it took him a long moment before he was able to find the right words.

„No one is going to force you into a marriage, dear sister,“ Aegon replied calmly. „But it would indeed be of great help if you at least considered the possibility. I know we have only met, but this is also your war. I am sure you also wish to take revenge for mother.“

„Of course,“ Rhaenys replied. „But I won’t sell my freedom for a little bit of revenge. I am sure mother would have wanted us to be safe. That includes you as well, Aegon.“

„Aegon has been destined to be King since he was a young babe in your mother’s arms,“ their uncle Doran added calmly. He didn’t seem angry, just sad, and exhausted. Aegon knew his health was not good, but he hoped he would still be able to see his crowning. „Your mother nearly lost her life birthing him.“

„And for what?“ Rhaenys asked full of vitriol, Her hand clenched fist was resting on the wooden table beside her. Aegon couldn’t describe it, but she looked like a volcano ready to burst. „So she could wear a bloody crown and die an even bloodier death. Tell me, dear uncle, did my grandmother ever waste a thought on my mother's happiness when she told her to marry into the royal family? I have been asking myself this question for a long time…Did Prince Lewyn know about the Mad King's disposition?"

„My father was not mad,“ Viserys added angrily. „He was your king anD couldn’t even keep her husband to her bed. My brother did well in humping the Stark whore.“

Silence reigned as their heads turned all to look at his uncle. Aegon strangely felt only discomfort when he noticed the looks of displeasure on his uncle’s face.

Strangely, Arianne didn’t seem bothered and simply took Viserys‘ arm. She smiled sweetly as she looked up to him.

„Sit back down, dear,“ Arianne said softly, almost as if she was talking to a young child. „I am sure Rhaenys was just trying to voice her displeasure. Isn’t that so?“

Rhaenys frowned, but nodded her head in confirmation.

„If you say so, dear cousin. Well, I did not come here to quarrel, but to speak on behalf of Robb Stark.“

Finally, she looked back at Aegon. „I do not like your idea, but I will meet with the Tyrells if you promise to consider meeting with Robb Stark once the Lannisters have been defeated. What do you say?“

Aegon didn’t mind the idea, but the had the feeling that Rhaenys was only trying to haggle with him.

„Very well,“ he replied and nodded his head in confirmation. „We have a deal and now we ought to eat. I am sure Lady Stark will tell me more about her son's plans on the morrow?“

„For sure,“ Rhaenys confirmed and finally picked up her silver spoon. „And now let us have a taste of this salmon.“

„What do you think of my sister?“ Aegon asked Dany later, who was seated on the entrance of the balcony and enjoying the cool breeze coming from the sea. The wind tasted of salt and flowers, but Aegon couldn't bring himself to enjoy the moment. „Do you like her?“

Dany raised her head and brushed silver braid over her shoulder. She looked very pretty in her pale nightgown, which made it hard for him to think properly. Not long ago, she had allowed him to return to her bed and while Aegon had enjoyed himself and he also hoped that Dany had enjoyed herself.

Even so, he was still unsure, as he had not particularly much experience with women. Well, if fate was kind, they would have many years ahead of them and soon enough an heir on the way.

„Your sister is very bitter,“ Dany replied and took his hand, squeezing it lightly. „But that is understandable. I was much like her when I first met you. She spent nearly her entire life as a hostage and we are already making plans on her behalf. I think we should be very careful, Aegon.“

„She promised to speak with the Tyrells,“ Aegon assured, hopeful the meeting would go well. He had more need of the Tyrells than he wanted to admit. „I think I can take the Stormlands and even King’s Landing, but I need their allegiance to subjugate the other kingdoms.“

„What about this King Robb?“ Dany asked and climbed into his lap. „Do you think he might be a good ally?“

Aegon smiled and slipped his hands beneath her dress. Dany returned his smile and leaned closer, her full lips brushing over his.

„We will see,“ Aegon said and touched her breast.“Let us first speak with Lady Stark and then I shall speak with my sister again. She must have been very exhausted and perhaps her kin’s presence will help to ease her anger. And now we ought to attend to our royal duties.“

…


	54. Jon

**Jon**

Jon’s backside ached. The ride from the Neck to White Harbour had been long and full of storms. At night, Jon had been rolling from side to side, his mind a storm of confusion.

All he had believed was a bloody lie. His father was not his father and his mother had been there all along, hiding in the crypts of Winterfell.

Lyanna Stark. In the past, he had never thought much about his supposed Aunt, but now he was desperately trying to recall everything Lord Stark had told him about her.

He recalled that she had been a good rider and that she had been blessed with the famous wolfsblood. Harwin had even compared his little sister Arya to her Aunt. Now it made all sense, though the fact that Lord Stark was not his father was much harder to accept.

His father was Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon. All his life, Jon had believed him to be a rapist of the vilest sort, he was nothing more than a fool, who had caused a war.

Jon didn’t know what to make of that. Should he hate him? No, Jon felt only pity for Prince Rhaegar and most of all for his poor mother.

He felt even more pity for Princess Elia and Rhaenys. All this time, she had believed in her father’s innocent and had only received scorn and humiliation. Even Jon had discarded her feelings in that matter, though she had been right all along.

It was utter madness.

„You are still mulling over our last conversation, don’t you, my boy?“ asked Lord Howland Reed, his voice muffled by the shawl wrapped around his shoulders.

He was riding on his hairy pony and looked almost like a young child, though his voice was deep and wise.

„How can I not?“ Jon asked and exhaled deeply, white puffs of air rising into the sky. The wind was sharp and the world before him was nothing more than blurred shapes and shadows. „You dealt me a hard blow, my lord.“

„That is understandable,“ Lord Reed said. „But if you have more questions…,“ he was about to continue, but Jon cut him off when he noticed Dacey Mormont’s presence. She was leading her horse towards him, her cheeks deeply flushed and a wineskin in hand.

„Later, Lord Reed,“ Jon apologized and led his horse closer to Dacey Mormont. She offered him her wineskin and he accepted without hesitation.

The mulled wine was still warm enough to warm up his frozen body, but the lady’s smile was even more rewarding.

She was pretty, though not as pretty as Rhaenys. Especially, her white teeth were pleasant to look upon, as were her full lips.

She liked Jon too. So much he could tell by the way she was constantly seeking his company.

„Ghost is gone again,“ she remarked and grinned. „Does he not want to accompany us to White Harbour?“

„Ghost has his own mind,“ Jon replied and lifted his gaze. In the distance, he could see shifting shadows of buildings, but he knew they were close. He had visited White Harbour only once. Lord Stark had taken him and Robb to see the ships and together they had run along the shore, counting the ships. „He is no pet."

„I hope so,“ Dacey replied. „I miss his presence.“

„I always miss his presence,“ Jon admitted, but his wolf was not the only person he missed. He also missed Rhaenys and Arya. Gods, he even missed Sansa’s bickering. He just wanted to go home to Winterfell, but Lady Manderly had said it was urgent and thus he could not refuse. „But I can feel that he is not far.“

Dacey’s grey-blue eyes widened in fascination. „You can feel it?“

„Aye,“ Jon said and forced a smile over his lips. „Does that sound strange?“

„Not at all,“ Dacey replied. „It sounds as if you are a warg.“

Jon couldn’t help but chuckle. „A warg? Like in Old Nan’s tales? I don’t believe it, my lady.“

„Oh, you should believe it,“ Dacey insisted. „Tales about wargs are common among the Wildlings. Well, my mother also insists that I and my sisters were fathered by bears. Make of that what you will, Ser Jon.“

Jon chuckled

„Well, if you were truly fathered by a bear then you certainly didn't inherit your father’s hairy disposition, my lady.“

With these words, he had handed the wineskin back to the lady and urged his horse forward, towards the pale walls of White Harbour looming ahead.

The storm accompanied them all the way, but when he saw the walls of New Castle, he knew that they would soon have a warm fire and a proper meal. Lord Manderly was an odd man, but he was the last person in the north who would allow a man to go hungry.

The courtyard was lightened by flickering torches carried forth by numerous guards. They all wore cloaks of turquoise silk and were armed with trident spears.

The leader of the guards was a big man with a thick black beard. He smiled when he noticed the banner flying over Jon’s head.

It was the banner of House Stark. The Stark banner was joined by the sunburst of House Karstark, the black bear of House Mormont and the Flayed Man of House Bolton.

„Welcome, Ser Jon,“ the captain of the guards greeted him and turned his head to look at Lady Wylla Manderly. She wore a pale pelt and was seated upon a grey mare. She was smiling, her cheeks flushed from the cold as she climbed from her saddle. „You are welcome as well, my lady.“

„I thank you, captain."

„Ser Jon,“ Lady Manderly’s soft voice called him back to the present. „Are you still there?“

Jon shook his head in confusion. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, as he noticed that both Lord Reed and Lady Dacey were watching him with concern written all over their faces.

„I am well, my lady,“ Jon assured her. „I thank you, my lady.“

Lady Manderly didn’t remark upon his embarrassing behaviour and referred them to the able retainers of House Manderly.

First, Jon was freed from his horse and then he was led into the castle by the captain of the guard while the other men took care of settling in his travelling companions, all of this under the guidance of Lady Manderly.

Not much to Jon's surprised, he found Ghost in the courtyard. The captain of the guards informed him that the wolf had been waiting for him for nearly a whole day.

Jon was baffled when he took in his fine chamber. It was larger than anything he had been afforded in Winterfell. A spacious bed-chamber and a smaller anteroom with two comfortable armchairs and a hearth.

Jon was quick to stack some logs of wood upon another before stirring the flames to life. When the flames had grown big enough, he knelt down beside the fire and held his hands over the flickering flames.

The warmth returned quick enough. First, he felt his fingers again, followed by his legs and then the rest of his body. When he was feeling warm he pulled off his cloak and sat down in the armchair.

The soft cushion felt heavenly after days in the saddle and the warmth made Jon sleepy. It was Ghost’s wet tongue on his fingers that roused him from his slumber.

A pair of red eyes met his through the shifting darkness of the room. His wolf so big, he barely fit through the door anymore.

„You are hungry, aren’t you?“

The wolf cocked his head and made a howling sound.

Jon laughed and pulled himself to his feet. His clothing was finally dry, but still dirty. He would have to clean himself and then join Lord Manderly. His stomach was also empty and he longed for his first proper meal in days.

„Come, my boy,“ Jon replied and patted his wolf’s hed. „I am sure there will be some leftovers for you.“

The feasting hall was alight with music and the smell of roasted ox. The animal was doused in butter and honey, plumes of steam rising from it as the two men turned it over a pit of fire.

Along the walls stood several trestle tables, covered with an abundance of food. There were pies filled with a great variety of meat. Freshly-baked bread of all sorts and different kinds of stews. There were also pastries and sweet honey cakes, all warm and soft on the tongue. Yet, the ale was the best thing Jon tasted in a long time. It was the finest black ale, nothing like this sweet wine the southron people liked so much.

It felt like coming home to feel the bitter taste of ale on his lips.

„It seems they are all enjoying themselves,“ Lord Manderly remarked to Jon, who was seated beside him at the high table. There were also Lord Rickard Karstark, Lord Harrion Karstark, Lord Bolton and Lady Dacey Mormont. They were in good spirits, drinking and filling their bellies. „But you don’t seem to share that feeling. Why is that?“

„There is still a long way go to, my lord,“ Jon replied and sought the man’s gaze. He was the fastest man Jon had ever seen. His girth could barely fit into the silken surcoat, held together by a leather belt. „Winterfell is still a ruin and I have yet to hear from the men that I have sent to retake Torrhen’s Square and Deepwood Motte. I feel as if I do not know where to go first.“

Lord Manderly laughed heartily and licked his greasy fingers that had just picked apart a piece of honeyed chicken. „My granddaughters think it would be better if there was a little less of me.“

He had patted his belly and winked at his granddaughters, Lady Wylla and Lady Wynafryd Manderly. They had both looked up from their plates at the same moment, two playful smiles crossing their lips.

„Well, I am pleased to be here, my lord,“ Jon replied politely and tried to appear more serious. To the elderly lord, he must appear like a green boy. „To be honest, I only came to speak with you personally, because your granddaughter told me it is a rather private matter.“

Lord Manderly nodded his head in confirmation. Suddenly, he became an altogether different man.

„There is much you need to hear, Ser Jon,“ the elderly man confirmed. „And this kind of information is indeed not meant for the ears of everyone.“

„I see,“ Jon assured the elderly lord and leaned closer, keeping his voice intentionally low. „I assume you wish to speak in private once the feast is over, my lord?“

„That would please me very much,“ Lord Manderly replied with a smile. „Later.“

The feast lasted for several more hours before Jon was led to another chamber by Lady Wylla and her sister. Each girl held unto one of his arms and they were laughing in high-pitched voices that left his head aching.

„I heard King Robb is going to wed Lord Rickard’s daughter?“ Lady Wylla asked sweetly and grinned at her sister. „What about you, Ser Jon? Do you have a lady?“

Jon’s cheeks felt suddenly very hot and he doubted it had to do with the ale, but with the presence of these two young ladies.

„I have neither lands nor titles, my ladies,“ Jon began, but Wylla’s smile was enough to silence him. „That may be, good Ser, but for our family, it wouldn’t be so bad if one of us wed a man who would allow our children to keep the name Manderly. Your lack of titles wouldn’t be a problem for my grandfather either.“

„I am a bastard,“ Jon pointed out without any sort of bitterness. That surprised him, but perhaps that was because he deserved that title. He had done disgusting things to come back here, things he didn’t want to talk about. He also didn’t want to think of marriage when his mind was not even made about Rhaenys. „I do not think your grandfather would be very pleased to see me wed to you, my ladies.“

Disappointment showed on Wylla Manderly’s face as she left him at the door. Lord Manderly's private was not as spacious as he had expected, but there were two cushioned armchairs to be found and a large table with candles.

Lord Manderly had already taken his seat in one of the cushioned armchairs, his large form bending the wood to its will.

„Do you want some wine, Ser Jon?“ Lord Manderly asked and pointed at the flagon of wine and the polished cups lined up on the nearby table. A servant boy was still lingering in the corner of the room, waiting for Lord Manderly’s command.

„I thank you, my lord,“ Jon replied. „But I must leave as soon as possible. I must meet with Lady Alys and see to the rest of Robb’s troops.“

„You will soon have to do much more, Ser Jon,“ Lord Manderly replied in a strangely serious tone. „Troubling tidings about the Wall have reached us recently and there are other rumours. They concern your brothers…Brandon Stark and Rickon Stark. They might still be alive.“

Jon was baffled. Could it be true? Could his brothers be alive?

„How?“

„There was a man we found,“ Lord Manderly explained. „He claimed that Theon Greyjoy didn’t kill Brandon and Rickon Stark, but that they fled in company of a Wildling woman.“

„A wildling woman?“ Jon asked in confusion, but then he recalled what Robb had told him. They had captured a Wildling woman named Osha that had befriended Bran. „Did the man say where they could have gone?“

„The man believes they went north,“ Lord Manderly replied. „But there is more…It seems it was not Theon Greyjoy who burned Winterfell. Someone else was responsible…a certain Ramsay Snow.“

„I heard before that this Ramsay Snow is a dangerous person,“ Jon replied. „I heard he raped Lady Hornwood and forced her into a marriage. At least, that is what Lord Bolton told Robb. He didn’t seem particularly distraught over the incident.“

„He is a heartless man,“ Lord Manderly replied. „And smart enough to know that he cannot protect his son. I do not like Lord Bolton, but I think it would be unwise to pin his son’s crimes on him. King Robb will have need of his men.“

Jon nodded his head in agreement.

„Do you think he would oppose his son's execution?“

Lord Manderly frowned and crossed his arms over his fat belly.

„I am not sure if that is wise. Perhaps you could geld him and send him to the Wall? That would remove him from your vicinity forever. It would also protect Lord Bolton’s reputation. He will lack an heir, but I am sure he will find a good woman. He is not too old to father an heir.“

Jon would have preferred to feed this bastard of Bolton to Ghost, but now was not the time for revenge.

„You also mentioned the Wall, my lord?“ Jon asked. „Have you heard of Stannis Baratheon? I heard he sailed North…“

„We heard so much, but nothing is sure, “ Lord Manderly said and nodded his head in confirmation. „I only know that the Wall is under threat by an approaching Wildling army.“

When Jon had thought the situation couldn’t get any worse the gods decided to piss into his broth. It was a true mess.

„Are you well, Ser Jon?“ Lord Manderly asked after Jon had clutched his face with both hands and had started pondering what he should do first.

The answer was simple but would delay his plans further.

„It seems I must go to the Wall, I must investigate the whereabouts of my brothers and I must attend to Robb’s troops,“ Jon said and lifted his gaze. „Gods, this is a true mess.“

„There is no need for you to do everything,“ Lord Manderly replied. „You will have my help if you wish for it. Since you are already going to the Wall, I think it would also be wise to send someone to Skagos to investigate about your brother's whereabouts. It would be a dangerous endeavor for sure, but I have a good ship and men I trust.“

Jon smiled in relief. He felt very exhausted, yet he still had to speak Lord Reed.

„I thank you, Lord Manderly,“ Jon replied. „I shall see to my bed and we shall talk on the morrow.“

With these last words, Jon had left Lord Manderly and returned to his chamber to change into more comfortable clothing. Then, he went to see Lord Reed, who was still awake.

He looked cautious, as he led Jon into his chamber. To his confusion, Jon found furs spread over the ground before the crackling hearth.

Lord Reed immediately noticed his confusion and smiled. „We Crannogmen prefer to sleep on the solid ground. Soft beds are suspicious to us.“

„You promised me answers,“ Jon replied and sat down cross-legged on the carpet. His body felt heavy, but the warmth of the fire helped. The fact that Bran and Rickon might still be still alive made it easier to bear his own burdens. „Lord Reed."

„Howland,“ the elderly man replied warmly. „Just call me Howland. Your mother used to call me that as well. She was such a kind person and I loved her with all my heart.“

It warmed Jon’s heart to hear that, but there was also bitterness. Deep down, he had always hoped that his mother might still be alive...

That was now nothing more than a dream.

„You have only known her for a short time and yet you cared about her so deeply? Because she defended you?“

„Not only that,“ Lord Reed replied. „Your mother was easy to love and loved others just as easily. Even outsiders, like me. It does not surprise me that Rhaegar Targaryen fell for her. She was no beauty like Cersei Lannister, but she was wild and proud and very determined. A true She-Wolf.“

„Yet, she didn’t want to marry Robert Baratheon? My father…Lord Stark loved him like a brother…,“ Jon began, but when he noticed the grave expression that had crossed Lord Reed’s face he had fallen silent.

„Ned loved Robert,“ Lord Reed said. „But your mother didn’t. He was Ned’s friend and a jolly fellow, but the way he spoke about your mother always rubbed me the wrong way. And some of the things he did during the war makes me question his love for her.“

„How so?“ Jon asked. „Do you mind telling me?“

„Not at all,“ Lord Reed and smiled sadly. „We Crannogmen do not like talking ill about the dead.“

„I do not want you to speak ill of Robert Baratheon,“ Jon replied. „I just want to understand my mother’s reasoning.“

Lord Reed sighed and wrapped his furred cloak around his shoulders. He looked like a lost child, though his face spoke of a man that had lived a hundred years.

„Robert Baratheon was never shy about sprouting how much he loved your mother, but he never proved this love beyond empty boats. While he thought your mother raped, he couldn’t even keep his cock in his breeches for one night. I was a married man myself when I went to war and I too felt the need for a lady’s company at times, but Robert Baratheon…He was never satisfied with one woman. I know it sounds cruel, but I never understood how a good man like Lord Stark could be friends with a man of such low morals. They were like moon and sun, like water and fire…“ he trailed off.

„And now you are indeed speaking ill of the dead,“ Jon replied with slight amusement. „Well, if it helps, I didn’t care either for Robert Baratheon. He was Lord Eddard’s friend, not mine and now he rots in the earth, and the worms are feasting on his body. If anything he deserves pity for living a life full of lies.“

„Perhaps,“ Lord Reed replied thoughtfully and cocked his head. „Is there more you want to know? I admit I didn’t know your mother as well as your uncle Benjen.“

„I assumed so much,“ Jon replied and rubbed his hand over his face. „And my father? Did you know him?“

Lord Reed shrugged his shoulders.

„Sadly not.“

When Jon returned to his chamber, he was surprised to find Lady Dacey Mormont seated at his door. She had changed into a long green nightgown, her black hair free from its usual braids.

She smiled at him when she noticed his presence and Jon knew what she wanted from him.

It was his own fault.

He had not pushed her away when he should have done it. On the contrary, he had even encouraged it, thinking it might help to clear up the confusion in his heart.

Rhaenys was his sister. Only his half-sister, but still his sister and blood.

He was half a Targaryen, but had not been raised like one. It was wrong to bed one’s sister, but then he didn’t think of Rhaenys as his sister.

It was utter madness.

„Are you well?“ Lady Dacey asked kindly and touched his cheek. Her grey-blue eyes were full of concern and her warmth made his blood boil. Perhaps she could help him forget about Rhaenys. Perhaps he ought to try and bed a woman that was not his half-sister. „You are suddenly so pale?“

Jon shook his head and bridged the distance between them, his hands grasping her shoulders and his lips touching hers.

He enjoyed it and her kiss made his blood boil, but then something made him stop.

Lady Dacey started at him with wide eyes.

Jon backed away as if he had touched fire.

„I think you ought to go, my lady. I am rather tired.“

…


	55. Daenerys

**Daenerys**

Dany had watched Lady Stark throughout the entire meal. She was a very beautiful lady, but she could read worry in the lines of her soft-shaped face.

The Dornish food didn’t seem to her taste either, for she had poured down more of the wine than the spicy soup that had been served as the first dish.

The pastry seemed more to her taste: dumplings filled with oats, nuts, pistachio, cinnamon, and sugar, all glazed with honey.

Dany had enjoyed the dumplings even more and had been more than disappointed when the last one had been consumed. She had always had a sweet tongue, but in the last weeks, she had craved as if she was going mad.

Rhaenys didn’t seem to share her feelings on this matter, for she had neither touched the soup nor the sweets. Instead, she had only eaten some of the soft bread and the coverings consisting of onions and some sort of white paste sprinkled with mint.

And now that supper had been served it was time to speak about the topic at hand. Only a day ago, word had reached them from the Bronzegate that the envoy from the Reach had arrived and that Lord Yronwood had allowed them entrance upon Prince Doran’s command. Of course, nobody knew about Ser Garlan’s presence here in Dorne, but that didn’t make the time any less pressing.

Aegon was eager to leave, though he had yet to sort out his relationships with his sister. Yesterday, he had promised to speak to her, but all morn and all midday he had remained silent.

Not wanting to pressure her husband, she had taken Princess Rhaenys to the water gardens. Three hours, they had spent wading through the cool water and had watched the exotic birds belonging to Prince Doran’s menagerie.

Rhaenys had smiled and had enjoyed watching Lady Ellaria’s children play in the pools of water.

Yet, her niece had remained tongue-tied and Dany had accepted it because she knew how it felt to be among strangers.

„Your son sent you here to negotiate with me, my lady?“ Aegon asked for the lack of a better question. He seemed nervous and his gaze was constantly flickering back and forth between Rhaenys and Lady Stark. „Did your son give you any specific demands?“

Lady Catelyn forced a smile over her lips as she shook her head. „Robb only asked me to establish a friendly connection between us, your grace. As for specific demands…I assume you understand that the best outcome for the North would be to keep its independence. At least, that is the prevailing sentiment among the Northmen.“

„Is it?“ Aegon asked unhappily. „And when you speak of the North does that also include the Riverlands? I have heard your son does not only like to call himself King in the North, but also King of the Trident.“

„My son does not only call himself that, my lord,“ Lady Stark replied not without politeness, but also not with hesitance. „His lords gave him these titles because they suffered under the yoke of the last two Kings. First, King Aerys executed Lord Brandon and then he burned Lord Rickard Stark alive. And while King Robert was a friend to my husband, his brothers didn’t share the same sentiment and neither did the Lannisters who murdered my husband.“

Aegon had listened quietly, but Dany could tell that he was not all too pleased with Lady Stark’s recount of the war.

„And you forget that my family also suffered losses, my lady,“ Aegon replied politely, but not without strength. He sounded almost like a King, though he looked much too young. Dany felt the same way, but they all had to grow according to their tasks. „I my mother was raped and defiled. My sister spent her life as a hostage. My grandmother had to flee her home and my wife and her brother Prince Viserys spent the last years as beggars. I myself spent most of my life in hiding.“

Lady Stark nodded her head calmly. She didn’t seem impressed by Aegon’s recount of the past.

„And here I thought you wanted to negotiate and not to trade woes of the past,“ Lady Stark added and fell silent, allowing her words to work their way. „My husband certainly never held a grudge against your family, despite your father’s shameful actions towards his sister.“

Dany had quickly grabbed for Aegon’s arm to keep him still.

„My Lady Stark,“ Rhaenys said and sucked in a deep breath. „I was only three years old when my father perished at the Trident, but I recall him as a kind and soft-hearted man. He would have never raped a girl. Whatever happened between Lyanna Stark and my father must have had another reason.“

Lady Stark looked taken back by her niece's words. She grabbed her skirt and bit her lips, her blue eyes wide in confusion.

Her gaze flickered from Dany back to Aegon and then over to Rhaenys.

Dany herself didn’t believe that Rhaegar had raped the Stark girl, for even Viserys had told her that her brother had died for the woman he had loved. Her strange visions in the House of the Undying confirmed this truth, but she could scarcely bring up these visions in a meeting like this.

Lady Stark sucked in a deep breath and spoke again.

„That is not how I heard the tale and my husband was not known to be a liar…,“ Lady Catelyn trailed off while Rhaenys continued to frown.

„Nobody said that,“ Dany added softly and smiled at the lady. „But the winners of war have a tendency to interpret events in their favor. None of us denies that my father King Aerys was a monster and did wrong by murdering Lord Rickard and Brandon Stark, but why is it so unbelievable that my brother might have loved Lady Lyanna? He was the crown prince, a handsome lord, and well-beloved by anyone who knew him. Perhaps Robert Baratheon could simply not fantom that a woman didn’t want him in her bed.“

„He was her betrothed,“ Lady Catelyn began, but Princess Rhaenys cut her off once more.

„And that is proof of her love for Robert Baratheon?“ Rhaenys asked with a hint of mockery. „I was betrothed to Joffrey and he never showed a hint of love for me. No, my lady. He would have raped and tortured me had I truly become his wife…“

„I think that is enough, sister,“ Aegon interrupted when he noticed how pale Lady Stark had become. „You are insulting Lady Stark.“

„Forgive me, my lady,“ Rhaenys replied and gritted her teeth. „I am just tired to hide behind false courtesy. I had to act my entire life and now I am determined to speak the truth.“

„The truth is a difficult thing,“ Lady Stark replied in a wavering voice but didn’t blink when she met Rhaeny's hard gaze. „And I think it would be best if we leave the past behind us and speak of the future.“

Then, the Lady turned her head to look over to Aegon. „I told you what the North wishes for, but I am sure Robb would be willing to negotiate with you if you prove a better option, your grace. But first, you must take the crown from those my son is already fighting the Lannisters. I wonder…Will you call upon the Dornish spears?“

Aegon’s demeanor changed at once.

„Not only that, my lady Stark,“ Aegon replied. „I shall soon have the Golden Company at my disposal. In truth, we are waiting for another potential alley to join us.“

Curiosity showed in Lady Stark’s blue eyes.

„The Golden Company? Weren’t they former Blackfyre Loyalists?“

„No more,“ Aegon replied with sudden hesitation. „With the Last Blackfyre slain by Ser Barristan Selmy they just wish to return home and I am willing to grant them this wish in exchange for their help.“

„And these allies you speak of?“ Lady Stark asked, pressing further. "Who are they?"

„The Tyrells,“ Dany provided Lady Stark with the answer she was seeking. „Or better said Ser Garlan Tyrell is coming here to meet with my husband. I am sure he would be pleased to meet with you, my lady.“

„I see,“ Lady Stark said. „And I assume you want me to pretend we are allies?“

„No,“ Aegon replied and shook his head. „But it would help if you made it clear to them that we are not enemies. I admit I do not like your son’s kingship, but the Lannisters are our common enemy and we must make clear to the them that a possible allegiance with the Lannisters, would also bring us closer together."

Lady Stark nodded her head in acknowledgment.

„I think that we can agree on, your grace.“

Three days passed, in which Dany had to entertain both Lady Stark and her niece Rhaenys. Lady Stark was easily satisfied, as she spent most of her time in company of the men she had brought with her to Dorne. Dany had tried her best to make her feel welcome and had offered her several times to join Lady Ellaria and her children, who was both a kind and pleasant lady to be around, but it seemed that Lady Stark felt uncomfortable in her presence, a fact that Rhaenys had brought to her mind the night before.

_Ladies from the south are not fond of bastards_, she had told Dany and had not spoken much for the rest oft he day.

Dany had tried to lift her spirit by taking her on a trip to the great bazaar in Sunspear where they had spent most of the evening, haggling over spices and silken gowns. Rhaenys had smiled and had been an all-around pleasant companion, but there was always a heavy sadness hanging over her.

Dany had tried to find out if it was just the upcoming meeting with the Tyrells that bothered her niece. It felt as if she was used to hiding her feelings and that was something Dany understood well.

Even so, Dany had decided to make another attempt to reunite her husband by having supper together and without others to pry upon them.

Aegon had agreed and Rhaenys had not objected either.

Thus, the night before the Tyrell’s arrival, they were seated in Aegon’s and Dany’s chamber and broke their fast on roasted pigeons covered with another spicy sauce. They also had sweet wine and fresh oranges.

Dany nibbled impatiently on her piece of orange as she continued to watch her husband and Rheanys stare at their cups of wine. Both seemed to lack the words needed to reconcile. At last, Dany lost her patience and decided to give Aegon a gentle push in the right direction.

„Rhaenys,“ Dany said and pushed Aegon’s shoulder. „We have heard that you had the most interesting flight from King’s Landing. Lord Varys informed us that you fled in the company of Eddard Stark’s bastard.“

Rhaenys paled at the mention of the young man they only knew from Varys' letters.

„His name is Ser Jon,“ her niece corrected her in obvious displeasure, which only confirmed Dany’s suspicions. It seemed there was more to this bastard than Rhaenys let on. „And he protected me.“

„Who killed Cersei Lannister, then?“ Aegon asked curiously. „Or did she truly die in childbirth?“

Rhaenys shook her head. „Why do we need to speak about that horrid woman? She is dead and gone and I am glad for it.“

Hearing Rhaenys words of anger made Dany believe that they had hit wound point. Perhaps it was not only the upcoming meeting with the Tyrells that bothered her niece.

„We are not weeping for Cersei Lannister,“ Aegon replied unhappily. „But I have the feeling that you are not telling us everything, sister.“

Rhaenys grimaced and covered her mouth. She was suddenly very pale and looked as if she was about to vomit on Aegon’s lap, but she quickly lifted her cup and poured down her wine.

Colour returned quickly enough to her face, but she still looked rather sickly.

Dany leaned closer. „Do you need to rest, sister?

„I am well,“ Rhaenys told her and looked back at Aegon. „You have not told me anything about your times in Essos either, dear brother.“

Aegon frowned. „Then just ask away, but stop being so cold towards me, sister. All my life I wanted to meet you and yet you are treating me like a stranger.“

Rhaenys leaned on her hand and cocked her head to the side, eying Aegon with a strange look.

„Most of my life I thought you were dead,“ Rhaenys replied in a softer voice. „It has been barely a year since I found out about your existence, dear brother. Truth be told, I felt both relief and anger that you are alive. Relief because are alive and anger because my mother chose you over me. I understand why she saved the heir, but most of my life I was either used or discarded at everyone’s pleasure. And now I am here and you are trying to use me again. I am just sick and tired of it all.“

„That is understandable,“ Aegon replied and balled his hand to fist. „But you are not the only one who suffered. I spent my entire life with strangers and everyone expects me to live up to this great legacy. Sometimes, I wish I was just Young Griff.“

„And sometimes I wish I was no Targaryen at all,“ Rhaenys replied and smiled at her brother for the first time since her arrival. „Sometimes being a bastard or a common girl has its perks as well, dear brother.“

„Call me Aegon,“ Aegon insisted, the expression on his face growing softer. „And I think we finally found something we can agree on, Rhaenys. We are both unhappy about our upbringing, but at the same time, we have to make the best out of it. As for your previous question, I spent most of my life on a pole boat in Volantis. It was a rather boring and peaceful life. What was your life like?“

„Sometimes full of fear and sometimes full of boredom,“ Rhaenys replied and grew pale again. It looked as if she was getting sick again, but more out of horror than the previous feeling of sickness that had overwhelmed her. „Most of all, I hated Joffrey and his mother. He loved tormenting me and everyone around him and Queen Cersei was even worse. I think she hated me for looking like our mother. She was terribly jealous of her memory.“

Surprisingly, Aegon chuckled.

„I heard Cersei Lannister was the Sun of the West, yet she was jealous of our sickly mother?“

„I think more of the fact that was wed to our father,“ Rhaenys provided quickly. „Though that didn’t keep our father from straying from her bed. I don’t remember much of them, but they were never like Uncle Oberyn and Lady Ellaria. They were fond of each other...that is all.“

„Then, this Lyanna Stark must have had my brother‘s heart,“ Dany added carefully and cradled her cup between her hands. „But she perished as well. Lady Ashara told me she perished in a tower in Dorne."

„I didn't know that,“ Rhaenys replied in surprise and lifted her gaze, her dark eyes burning into Dany. „But I know that my father would have never raped her. I also didn't know that Lady Ashara is alive.“

„There is more,“ Dany added and looked over to Aegon, the memories of the House of the Undying returning to her at that moment. „While we were in Qarth we experienced strange visions. That was when I hatched the dragon eggs.“

Rhaenys nodded her head in acknowledgment.

„Go on.“

Aegon answered for her.

„I saw our mother in a vision. She spoke to our father about having a third child.“

Aegon exhaled deeply when Rhaenys stared at him in disbelief.

„And I saw a similar vision in which I saw Lady Lyanna with a babe at her breast. I babe with brown hair and grey eyes. Rhaegar was also there. He called the babe the prince that would bring the dawn.“

Rhaenys remained silent for a while longer before she burst out in laughter.

She continued to laugh for a long time until she realized that both Dany and Aegon had fallen silent.

„Why are you staring at me like that?“ Rhaenys asked. „I thought that was a joke.“

„No,“ Aegon replied. „It is no joke at all, sister. We saw these visions and you have to admit…It is not unlikely that they are false, given that Dany hatched dragons after nearly a century.“

Rhaenys shook her head in disbelief. She was shaking, as she pulled herself back to her feet and stumbled towards the door. Dany was quick on her feet to grab her arm and hold her still as Rhaenys was emptying her supper on the carpet.

„Are you really, well?“ Dany asked her niece later after she and Aegon had led her back to her chamber. Rhaenys was sitting over a bowl and emptying her stomach again while Dany was brushing her hand over her back. „You look very sickly? Do you want to see a Maester?“

„No Maester,“ Rhaenys croaked and rinsed her mouth with a cup of water. Then, she rose back to her feet but sat down again when she started to sway like a man too deep in his cups. „I am well enough…I think my stomach can't take all these spices.“

„Well, then you shall have something less demanding on the morrow,“ Dany promised and smiled at her niece. „Have you need something else? A bath or tea?“

„No bath and no teas,“ Rhaenys replied. „Just rest. I must look presentable when I meet with the Tyrells.“

Dany kissed her cheek after she had helped her climb the bed.

„Goodnight.“

Rhaenys gave her a weak smile and hugged her gently. „Goodnight.“

Then, Dany took her leave and returned to Aegon’s chamber, who was seated on the balcony and watching the stars.

„Are you excited about meeting the Tyrells?“

„Not more than meeting my sister,“ Aegon replied and made space so she could sit down next to him. He sighed and lifted her hand to his lips to kiss it softly. „It seems she warmed up to me a little…What do you think?“

„I think you need to give her more time,“ Dany replied and leaned her head on his shoulder. She liked his spicy smell and thought it would be a fine idea to try for an heir tonight. „But I also think she is not telling us everything.“

„Something happened between her and that bastard," Aegon mused. "Might he be the reason she does not wish to marry Lord Willas?“

„And if that is the case then you will have to accept it,“ Dany replied and kissed his cheek, her hand brushed through his silver locks. „Or lose her forever.“

Aegon pulled away from her and brushed his hands over her hair. „But we need Lord Willas.“

„We do,“ Dany confirmed with a smile. „But isn’t it a crown Lord Tyrell wishes for? Well, by marrying Rhaenys he wouldn’t get a crown, would he?“

Aegon wrinkled his brows in confusion. „What are you trying to say?“

„I am just trying to say that it would please Lord Tyrell much more if he got a crown for one of his children. Why not promise Lord Tyrell a future match with our future heir instead?“

Aegon’s eyes widened and his hands dropped.

He smiled.

„It's not a bad idea,“ Aegon admitted, leaned closer and kissed her cheek, his arm enclosing hers tightly. „But first we need an heir.“

Dany chuckled. „Well, then we ought to try, no?“

Aegon laughed and kissed her.

The envoy arrived without much fanfare and pomp. It were only about a hundred riders, all garbed in simple clothing and devoid of official insignias that would have declared their belonging. In fact, they looked like a group of hedge knights and Ser Garlan Tyrell like some third-born lordling without any inheritance to speak of.

Even so, he was gallant to look upon and kissed her hand as only a high lord or knight would. Aegon had eyed him with mistrust, but that had amused Dany only more. Only a handful of weeks ago, their positions had been changed. She had been jealous of her Aegon’s admirers.

„I thank you for allowing me to be here,“ Ser Garlan Tyrell said later after he had been allowed to rest and refresh himself. Now he was seated at a table with Aegon, Daenerys, Rhaenys, and Prince Oberyn, who was there to represent her Prince Doran, who had refused to reveal his weakness to the Reachmen. „It has been a rather difficult journey and the Lannisters might find out about it. This would be most dangerous, for my sister is currently residing in the capital with our grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell.“

„And Lord Tywin has left the capital, didn't he?“ Prince Oberyn asked eagerly. „To fight Robb Stark? We also heard he is employing his favorite dog against him. The Moutain.“

Ser Garlan’s face paled a little at the mention of the monster that had murdered Princess Elia Martell, but he kept his composure.

„That is what we heard,“ Ser Garlan replied. „And there is more…My father dispatched Lord Randyll to join Lord Tywin weeks ago. As expected, Lord Tywin has asked for more men, but since I am here to negotiate an allegiance with you these troops might yet change sides to you, your grace.“

Silence reigned before Prince Oberyn burst out in laughter. It made the whole situation even more uncomfortable.

„What a surprise! What a surprise!“

„Uncle,“ Aegon grumbled and clucked his tongue in displeasure. „Now is not the time...“

Aegon’s chiding was enough to silence his Uncle, but Ser Garlan didn’t seem at all amused by Prince Oberyn's antics.

„I am going to be honest with you, your grace,“ Ser Garlan replied and searched Aegon’s gaze. „My father is very interested in seeing Margaery crowned and is willing to go to great lengths to achieve this goal, but my grandmother is a bit more practical. The Lannisters are proud and would only use us to their own advantage...But you, a young ruler, might have use of a house that helped you to your rightful crown. To make it brief, my grandmother has great influence on my father and if this allegiance is more advantageous to us we will gladly support you.“

Aegon nodded his head in acknowledgment.

„I am well aware that House Tyrell’s loyalty does come at a price, which is why I had hoped my sister might consider meeting with your brother, Lord Willas Tyrell.“

Ser Garlan looked over to Rhaenys, who had tensed when her name had been mentioned.

„I would be very pleased to meet your brother, good Ser," she replied and smiled, but her voice lacked enthusiasm.

Ser Garlan returned the smile but seemed to sense the tension. „So would my brother. He is several years older than you but good-looking and very well-read. I am sure he will be delighted to meet you, Princess Rhaenys.“

Ser Garlan shifted his attention back to Aegon.

„I am sure a meeting can be arranged as soon as possible. In fact, I think it would be best if Princess Rhaenys accompanies us to the Reach.“

Dany could sense her niece's discomfort and came for her rescue. 

„I think the match with Rhaenys might not be the only solution for our problem,“ Dany offered politely and feigned a smile. „I know we have yet to produce an heir, but wouldn’t a future betrothal between our heir and a child of Tyrell blood not please your father much more, Ser Garlan?“

Ser Garlan smiled and eyed Dany's belly.

„As it happens, my wife is with a child. I still think it would be wise if Princess Rhaenys traveled to the Reach to meet with my brother and mother.“

„That I cannot expect of my sister,“ Aegon replied determinedly. „I have never met your father and if he decides to join hands with the Lannisters my sister would be a hostage again. The only way I could agree to such a demand would be if you stayed here with us in Dorne as our hostage.“

Ser Garlan didn’t seem insulted, as he leaned back in his chair.

„I think my grandmother will be pleased.“

„How so?“ Aegon asked in obvious confusion.

Ser Garlan’s smile told more than a thousand words.

„I only meant to say that my lady grandmother will be pleased to know that our next king is not as much of a fool as the previous two.“

…


	56. Jon

**Jon**

The grey walls of Karhold reminded Jon of Winterfell, but it was not the same. The walls were not as thick and the high towers were not as high, which were now nothing more than a burnt ruin.

They had passed Winterfell on their way to Karhold, but the sight had been enough to fill him with a terrible feeling of rage.

Yet, now was not the time to allow such feelings to overwhelm him.

Fresh snow was whirling from the sky as he rode over the frozen moat and entered a large courtyard filled with the inhabitants of the castle, though Jon was sure they had not assembled to meet him, but Lord Rickard and his son.

Lord Rickard Karstark looked nearly a decade younger when he laid eyes on these familiar faces. The couriers smiled too, some of the women brushing away their frozen tears when they saw Lord Harrion alive.

„Welcome back, father,“ a sweet voice greeted the old man. It belonged to a young woman with a long pale face. Her dark hair was kept in a tight braid that fell all the way to her shoulders and her eyes were grey-blue. A hint of a smile tugged on her pale lips as she embraced her father. „Welcome back.“

„It pleases me to find you hale, dear child,“ Lord Rickard Stark replied and kissed her cheek.

„And am pleased to find you alive, father,“ the girl replied with another smile and quickly jumped into her brother’s arms.

It was the first time, that Jon saw Harrion Karstark smiling. He laughed like a young boy as he whirled around his young sister, her bright laughter echoing over the courtyard and reminding Jon of his own sisters. Arya, who still felt like his trueborn sister, and Rhaenys, who was far away in Dorne.

And perhaps that was good. Perhaps there she would find true happiness and forget about what they had done.

No, he could never tell her the truth. It would be too damaging to her and her family to know who he was. Jon felt nothing but pity for his parents, but what they had done had hurt Rhaenys and her brother nevertheless.

No, it was better to spare her the pain.

„Alys,“ Lord Karstark’s voice called him back to the present. „This is Ser Jon. His brother, King Robb, sent him here on his behalf to fulfill his promise of marriage.“

Jon didn’t believe his ears when he heard this.

Lady Alys eyed him with a knowing smile. She was not the prettiest girl he had ever seen, but she was had a lovely smile. Robb would have no problem coming to love her or so he hoped. Jon had felt no joy in separating him from the Westerling girl, but it had been the only solution to win the Karstark’s back.

„I remember you, Ser Jon,“ Alys replied and dropped a quick curtsy, which was easier said than done in her heavy cloak. „We danced with each other at your brother’s nameday feast. I am looking forward to celebrating my wedding with you.“

Jon gave her a confused look. „I do not quite understand what you are trying to imply, my lady?“

Alys Karstark furrowed her brows and grinned at her brother and father. „Did you think my Lord Father would wait until your brother can give his marriage vows to me?“

Jon looked over to Lord Karstark. „Would you explain, my lord?“

„It is quite simple,“ Lord Rickard Karstark explained with a hint of glee in his grey eyes. „You will take King Robb’s place.“

Jon’s mouth fell open. He had never heard of such traditions, but then he had never shown much interest in marriage customs.

„How would that work, Lord Karstark?“

„Simple,“ Harrion Karstark said and patted his shoulder. „You are going to say the vows instead of your brother, sign the marriage contract, and sit at my sister’s side at the feast. Don’t you worry, the fun will be all for your brother, though I am sure I could find some lady for you, Ser Jon.“

Jon felt the heat rise up in his cheeks, but he had long gotten used to the mockery of those above him. Gritting his teeth, he brushed the young man’s hand away and noticed that Ghost was starting to sniffle at the walls, probably searching for food.

„I shall do what is demanded of me,“ he excused himself and lowered his head. He still felt the feeling of annoyance nagging at the back of his mind when he was led into his chamber, a more humble abode than he had been given in White Harbour.

Not that Jon cared. With a warm fur wrapped around his shoulders, a proper meal for Ghost, and a cup of mulled wine to warm him against the chill he felt he could endure anything.

It was the sound of the door and Ghost’s footsteps on the ground that woke him from the light slumber he had been lulled into.

Slowly, he pulled himself up and rubbed his eyes. He found a young girl standing at the door. She had a longish face, but her hair was blond and her eyes green instead of the grey-blue color so common in these lands. She was smiling and straightened the flowers in her hair.

Ghost had jumped to his feet, his nose searching her for more food. The girl had made an excited gasp and had jumped backward at the wolf’s approach.

A laugh had unbiddenly spilled from Jon’s lips.

A sweet memory had wedged itself back into his mind when he thought of Rhaenys and how she had laughed about Ghost during their first meeting.

„Don’t be afraid,“ Jon told the girl. „Ghost won’t hurt you. He is just very big and very hungry.“

The girl chuckled but continued to watch Ghost warily. „I am Lady Serra, a cousin to Lady Alys. I was sent to bring your garb for the wedding ceremony tonight."

Jon nodded his head and eyed the bag of clothing with annoyance.

This was not the way he had expected his stay in Karhold, but then he knew Lord Rickard Karstark as a clever old man, who would never leave up matters up to fate.

Truly, he should have expected something like this.

„I thank you, my lady,“ he told her and took the clothing. „I shall dress and join you when I am done.“

Yet, the lady made no attempt to leave. „Lady Alys told me that you ought to cut your hair. She says she wanted a pretty groom.“

Jon snorted in displeasure and grabbed a handful of his hair. His hair was indeed in dire need of a haircut, but not for this kind of mockery.

„You may do so, my lady,“ Jon replied at last. „But first let me dress.“

Thus, Jon went to dress in gray-and-black finery and a pale furred cloak wrapped around his shoulders and embellished with a direwolf. The ladies of Karhold had supposedly worked on it for weeks or so he had been told.

All his life he had wanted to be a Stark and now he was a Targaryen. Truly, this was a ridiculous mummery.

„You are looking well, Ser Jon,“ Lord Harrion remarked upon his return. He too had changed into finer clothing and had brushed his hair. „My sister is already waiting. We don’t have a proper full moon, but then you are just as eager to leave fort he Wall, no?“

Jon nodded his head in acknowledgment. „Indeed.“

A half-moon hung high above the tree crowns when Jon entered the godswood of castle Karhold. It was a much smaller godswood, but the soft moonlight falling upon the crimson leaves of the trees reminded him of home.

As expected, it was Lord Karstark who gave the bride away, who wore a long pale gown and blue flowers in her hair.

_Winter roses._

The sight of these rose made him think of his mother and the withered flowers he had always found decorating her grave.

„Who comes to wed be wed tonight?“ Harrion Karstark asked, his loudly over the crowd.

„Alys Karstark,“ Lord Karstark replied. „A maid, noble, and flowered comes to be wed.“

„And who comes to take her?“

„Ser Jon of Winterfell, on behalf of his brother King Robb Stark of the North,“ Jon replied and took Lady Alys‘ arm. She was laughing to herself, as he pulled off her cloak and exchanged the sunburst of House Karstark for the direwolf of House Stark. „Comes to wed Lady Alys Karstark.“

When they were done exchanging cloaks, they knelt down before the heart tree and listened to the rustling of the wind, until Lord Harrion Karstark’s voice called him back to the present.

„You may kiss the bride on the cheek.“

Alys burst out in laughter and Jon only wanted to leave, but the bride leaned forward and kissed his cheek.

„You also owe me a dance,“ she whispered. „I remember you refused to dance with me that many years ago and your brother is not here to do it.“

As promised, he shared a dance with her later, another embarrassing display on his part. Not that Robb or any of his other brothers had ever shown any more talent in this matter, but he knew that Alys Karstark simply enjoyed vexing him.

„You are a better dancer than my brother, Harrion,“ Alys replied later, her breathing labored and her cheeks flushed from the dance she had shared with her brother Harrion Karstark. „You should smile more.“

„You are right. I should be more courteous on your wedding day, my lady.“

„You don’t look apologetic,“ she said and leaned closer. „You sound angry. Am I such a terrible companion?“

„Not at all,“ Jon replied. „I have just a lot on my mind.“

Lady Alys cracked a smile and lifted her cup. „Well, I heard that you ought to dance and drink to wash away your worries. It works form me.“

Then, she jerked her head at the girl that had brought Jon his clothing.

Serra…something.

„This is my cousin,“ Lady Alys explained. „Cregan’s youngest sister. She is a good companion and I think you would like her.“

Jon shook his head in disbelief. „I doubt your Uncle would want a bastard knight to court his daughter.“

„She is a bastard,“ Alys whispered. „So I doubt she would hold it against you…,“ she was about to continue, but Jon cut her off.

„I am not interested,“ he rebuffed. „I have already a lady I admire.“

Suddenly, Lady Alys‘ eyes started to sparkle like two twinkling stars. „Oh, I wasn’t aware? Do I know her?“

„No,“ Jon replied and backed away. „You don’t know her, but I hope you can understand that I am not refusing your cousin’s company because I dislike her.“

The rest of the feast progressed merrily, but Jon was glad when he was allowed to leave the festivities behind him, though that didn’t mean he was allowed to rest.

He still had a matter to address an uncomfortable with Lord Bolton, who had enjoyed the festivities as little him.

Jon had not seen the man smile even once since they had arrived at Karhold and he had the feeling that he wouldn’t be any friendlier now.

„I assume we are going to ride directly for the Wall on the morrow, Ser Jon?“ Harrion Karstark asked when Jon joined them. His father, Lord Rickard, and Lord Bolton were also present, as was Lord Arnolf Karstark, Lord Rickard’s younger brother, and his son Cregan Karstark. Both eyed Jon with mistrust while Lord Bolton’s face could merely be described as indifferent. „

„We shall ride,“ Jon confirmed and looked over to Lord Bolton. „I doubt our current numbers will be enough. I had hoped you could add some more hundred men to our troops, Lord Bolton.“

Lord Bolton nodded his head in acknowledgment. „That is possible, but I doubt that is the only reason. I am well aware that you spoke to Lord Manderly about my son.“

„You are quite right,“ Jon replied and met the Lord’s pale gaze. „Your son must be punished. He raped Lady Hornwood and had her starved to death. My Lord Father would have surely taken his head for such a crime, but I think the Night’s Watch and being gelded would be a much better punishment for your heir.“

Lord Bolton seemed unmoved Jon's words. „My son was always led astray by his unruly friends and perhaps I failed in protecting and leading him, but he is my only son and heir. House Bolton might perish without him.“

_And would that be such a bad thing_, Jon thought and tapped his finger on the table. Sadly, _I cannot tell you that to your face._

Jon exhaled in frustration and spoke once more.

„I understand that, my lord,“ he replied and met his gaze. „But there is nothing I can do. Justice needs to be served.“

Lord Bolton’s eyes narrowed. He eyed Jon like some curious creature that had dared to speak out to him.

„And yet a moment ago you asked for my troops?“ Lord Bolton asked. „The very troops Ramsay bravely led into battle to drive the Ironborn away from Winterfell. My son might have acted wrongly towards Lady Hornwood, but he also proved himself loyal to House Stark. In fact, he could give you something more valuable…Theon Greyjoy.“

Jon didn’t believe his ears. „Theon is alive?“

„Indeed,“ Lord Bolton replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his pale lips. It looked unnatural. „My son could bring you his head and in return I want you to forget his foolish actions.“

„Foolish actions?“ Lord Rickard Kartark asked in obvious disgust. „This bastard of yours murdered a Lady of high birth.“

„Well,“ Lord Bolton clucked his tongue. „Well, Ramsay wrote to me that it had happened differently. They got drunk and forgot to care for Lady Hornwood while Ramsay returned to fight the enemy at Winterfell. They were punished, my lords. I can bring you their heads as well if you wish.“

Jon couldn’t believe it. This bastard had turned the stacks against him within the blink of a moment.

It seemed playing along was the only way. For now.

„Very well,“ Jon replied. „But before I make any decision regarding this matter I wish to speak to Theon Greyjoy myself. A rotten head is not proof enough for me.“

„That ought to be no problem,“ Lord Bolton replied. „I shall call upon Ramsay and command him to bring your desired troops to the Wall.“

Jon disliked the notion of having to depend on this despicable man, but if a horde of Wildlings was trying to take the Wall he would need every man he could get, Bolton or not.

Justice had to wait.

...


	57. Aegon

**Aegon**

Taking Storm’s End had been much easier than anticipated, but it had only been the first step towards victory.

Stannis Baratheon had left only a small garrison to hold Storm’s End and Lord Connington had told him to make use of that.

Instead of besieging the castle, the men of the Golden Company had donned the golden-and-black banners of House Baratheon and had acted as if they had come as saviors when in truth they had been nothing more than a wolf using a sheep pelt to conceal his identity.

Or would it be better to say a dragon in a sheep pelt? Alas, Aegon felt no satisfaction about his victory. It had felt almost too easy and he couldn’t bring himself to trust this false peace.

Even so, there was a victory feast to be celebrated tonight. He owed so much to the men of the Golden Company, who were only loyal to him, because of the many promises he had given to them.

He had promised them lands and coin aplenty, but also women and marriages. He had given another promise to the Tyrells, among it a match with sister Rhaenys, who had not been very pleased about this prospect.

Aegon couldn’t blame her and he was also prepared to take Daenerys‘ suggestion of marrying their future heir to a child of Tyrell blood into consideration, but this son or daughter had yet to be born.

There had been Kings who had died childless.

No, he couldn’t think that way.

Daenerys had hatched three dragons and Aegon was sure she would also be able to give him a son. And if not, then Rhaenys‘ children could serve as his heirs.

Not that it mattered.

First, he had to retake the Iron Throne from his enemies, a deed much easier said than done.

By now, Tywin Lannister had surely heard of the fall of Storm’s End and that meant the final battle was drawing ever closer.

„You are distracted today, Aegon,“ Daenerys said. She was seated beside the hearth, her hands hidden beneath the long sleeves of her black dress. Around her shoulder hung a red cloak and her silver hair was braided tightly around the crown of her head. She had arrived this morn in company of a guard and the dragons. „Where is your mind? With your sister?“

„I fear that I made the wrong choice by sending her to the Reach,“ Aegon admitted and took a glance at the looking glass. His squire, a boy of house Uller, had helped him dress into his black-and-red finery and he had even allowed one of the ladies to cut his hair. Now, he had also put on his crown, a single silver circlet with nine scones that were embellished with rubies. It fit Daenerys‘ new crown, which was also made of silver and embellished with glittering stars that suited her beautiful violet eyes. „I also worry about the Tyrells. I do not trust them.“

„Ser Garlan Tyrell is an honored guest in Dorne,“ Daenerys replied softly. „I doubt they would be prepared to sacrifice their son. The way Ser Garlan spoke about his family makes me believe the Tyrells are a close-knit family who loves their children. And perhaps Rhaenys will warm up to Lord Willas?“

„Perhaps,“ Aegon said and leaned down to put Daenerys‘ crown back into place. „We also learned to get along.“

„True,“ Daenerys said. „But I never cared about the man Viserys chose for me, but I have the feeling that Rhaenys‘ heart might belong to someone else.“

Aegon had never considered that possibility.

„You think so? Did she imply something like that?“

„No,“ Daenerys replied and took his hand to squeeze it. „But I sensed something along the lines.“

„Women and their senses,“ Aegon jested. „I wish I could say the same. Maybe you could teach me?“

„I don’t think I can teach,“ Daenerys replied and chuckled.

Not long after, they took their place at the high table and watched the men of the Golden Company and the Dornishmen enjoying themselves. The larder of Storm’s End had been nearly full when Aegon had sent men to inspect it and for tonight he had told their men to open several barrels of wine to celebrate.

It was his first step to the crown.

Even so, Aegon couldn’t help but notice the enmity between the assembled parties in the room. His Uncle Oberyn and Lord Jon Connington held little love for each other and it was rather noticeable.

The air was so thick, it could be cut with a knife.

Simon Toyne, Harry Strickland, and Aegon’s Kingsguard, who were below the high table, seemed unaware of this fact and were enjoying themselves greatly.

They were laughing and enjoying drinking games, the servant girls refilling their cups whenever they were empty.

Even Ser Barristan Selmy was having a cup, something Aegon’s hadn’t seen him do since he had met. He had been right at Aegon’s side when they had fought Storm’s End garrison and he had promised he would also be there when he was about to face the man that had murdered his mother.

Tywin Lannister.

Thinking of the man who had set the Mountain on his mother took away his appetite, but the real reason was coming war.

„Your Grace,“ a soft-spoken voice roused Aegon out of his reverie. It was his cousin Prince Quentyn Martell who had addressed Daenerys.

Daenerys was smiling at him gracefully. „How may I be of help, Prince Quentyn?“

His cousin blushed like a maiden. „I would….I would be honored to be granted a dance?“

Daenerys gave him an apologetic look.

„Sadly, I was never educated in dancing,“ she replied, but rose to her feet, offering her hand to the young man. „But you could teach me, no?“

Her cousin’s smile was brighter than the sun.

„It would be my pleasure, your grace.“

Aegon watched as his wife and his cousin were sharing a dance. The music was cheerful and quick and Daenerys seemed to enjoy herself greatly, but Aegon couldn’t share her joy.

His mind was already in King’s Landing.

„You look worried, nephew,“ remarked Prince Oberyn, his dark eyes resting on Princess Daenerys. „You have won a great victory, yet you have neither shared a dance with your Queen nor a drink with your men.“

Aegon noticed then that Jon Connington was glaring at his Uncle over the table.

„I am worried about Rhaenys,“ Aegon replied. „I think I shouldn’t have sent her to the Reach.“

„She went through a lot,“ his Uncle replied. „It is only natural she is mistrustful of us. You have to give her time.“

„And the match with Willas Tyrell didn’t help either.“

„Probably not,“ his Uncle agreed and patted his shoulder. „But she was willing to consider it. That shows that she cares about you.“

„She does,“ Aegon replied with obvious relief. He had never looked at it that way, but that didn’t ease his fear of facing his enemies. „But there is more that worries me. What do you think will Tywin do next?“

„He will come for you,“ his Uncle replied without hesitation. „He will come for you once he knows you have Storm’s End. He cannot allow himself to leave his enemies unattended, which is why you should attack first.“

Aegon nodded his head in understanding. „I like the idea of that, but I am not sure if Lord Connington will agree.“

„He is just one man,“ his Uncle replied with obvious displeasure. „He has no right to tell you what to do. You are the King and the Dornish spears and the Golden Company fight for you and not Lord Connington.“

„Lord Connington is my Hand,“ Aegon replied. „And I owe him much. He raised me as if I was his own son.“

„He also disliked your mother,“ his Uncle countered. „Because he loved your father.“

„My mother was a good woman and Lord Connington is a good man,“ Aegon replied. He wouldn’t allow his Uncle to pit him against a man he trusted with his life. „I do not wish to hear things that could blemish their reputation, especially now that we are fighting a war.“

Aegon patted his Uncle’s shoulder in turn.

„I know you loved my mother, but I am both a Martell and a Targaryen. Whatever my father did is in the past and I feel life is too shot to hold grudges against him. The same goes for Lord Connington. All ill things he ever said about my mother cannot compare to the loyalty he has shown me.“

His Uncle’s dark eyes told him that he didn’t agree with him.

„I assume you expect of me to be friendlier towards him?“

Aegon nodded his head in confirmation when he noticed Daenerys‘ presence. She was smiling as she sat down beside him.

She took a quick sip from her cup of wine and eyed her Uncle Oberyn with amusement.

„Do you like dancing, Prince Oberyn?“

His Uncle returned her smile.

„I am not particularly good at it, but I enjoy it well enough.“

She grinned. „How about a dance?“

His Uncle Oberyn jerked his head at Aegon.

„I think you ought to dance with your husband and distract him from his gloomy thoughts.“

Daenerys‘ smile faded when she turned her head towards him.

„What do you think?“

Aegon shrugged his shoulders and hopped to his feet. „Let us embarrass ourselves.“

And embarrass themselves they did, but not for long. Daenerys looked suddenly very pale and Aegon had to lead her out of the chamber before she collapsed on the dance floor.

„Are you well?“ he asked her while she vomiting out her fast. „Did you have too much wine?“

„Perhaps,“ Daenerys replied weakly and pulled herself, leaning on his shoulder. „I am feeling a little sickly. Please show me the way to my chamber. I need to attend to the dragons in the morn. You know that they won’t keep still until I am there.“

„I know,“ Aegon chuckled and helped her along the corridor, back to her chamber. It must have once belonged to the Lady of Storm’s End, for he had found a handful of folded dresses in the wooden box beside the bed that didn’t fit Daenerys‘ form. They were also incredibly old and smelled of dust. „Do you think this room belonged to the Lady of Storm’s End?“

„It did,“ Daenerys replied and sat down on the bed. „One of the servants told me.“

„It’s strange, isn’t it?“ she asked as she looked around. „That we are here in the home of the man who took everything from us. I know I shouldn’t hate him, but I can’t help it. He killed my brother and caused all our woe and all of that because of a woman he couldn’t have.“

„It isn’t that simple, Daenerys,“ Aegon added solemnly, though he was sure she hadn’t meant it literally. „The war had many reasons and to be honest I am sick and tired of hearing about it from everyone around us. I wish I could just forget about the past.“

Daenerys laughed. „That would be wonderful indeed.“

Aegon spent the night in Daenerys‘ chamber, but he wasn’t afforded much rest, because early in the morn, Ser Barristan Selmy came to wake him on behalf of Lord Jon Connington.

„Lord Connington told me to wake you, your grace,“ Ser Barristan explained. „The others are waiting for you."

„I thank you, Ser Barristan,“ Aegon replied and dismissed him quickly. „Tell Lord Connington that I will be there as soon as possible.“

Not long after, he was dressing and breaking his fast in company of Daenerys, who looked much better than last night after she had attended to their children.

She was already wearing her formal garb, a simple long-sleeved dress fastened with a leather belt. She was sipping on her cup of milk, watching him dress with amusement.

„Don’t forget your crown,“ Daenerys teased him. „And when you are done you should join me and the dragons. They miss you.“

„Do they? Can dragons miss people?“ he asked teasingly.

„They are not that different from humans,“ Daenerys replied.

Aegon nodded his head and picked up his crown from the nearby table, right beside Daenerys'.

And when he placed the crown atop his head, it felt strangely wrong, a sudden idea blooming in his head.

„Daenerys,“ he said. „I think you should join the war council.“

Daenerys‘ violet eyes widened in surprise. „Wouldn’t your men disapprove?“

„They will have to accept it,“ Aegon assured her and handed her the crown. „Your place is at my side.“

Daenerys‘ beamed. „Of course.“

„I recommend attacking King’s Landing as soon as possible,“ Lord Jon Connington said and patted his hand upon the map spread over the table. There were candles as well and each person had a cup and a flagon of wine. „We cannot allow Lord Tywin to gather his strength.“

„A simple plan,“ his Uncle Oberyn mocked. „But wise? The Tyrell’s have yet to commit their troops to our cause and Rhaenys is in their hands?“

„We have Garlan Tyrell,“ Aegon countered and looked over to the leaders of the Golden Company. Simon Toyne, Lord Harry Strickland, and Lysono Maar were eying the map or sucking on their cups of wine. „I doubt Lord Mace Tyrell will risk hiss on. I am more interested in what the Lords of the Golden Company have to say?“

„I agree with you, your grace,“ Simon Toyne replied. „Taking King’s Landing is of utmost importance. Once we have the city we could strike into the heart of Westeros. This will only help to motivate your men and will give us enough reach for further resources.“

„I agree,“ Harry Strickland added but looked as if he wasn’t quite sure, but that was no surprise. He was not the most confident of men and seemed to favor peace over war. How he became a sellsword was a bit of a mystery to her. „I think we shouldn’t waste any more time in this matter.“

„I can only agree,“ Lysono Maar agreed as well and twirled a silver lock around his fingers. To Aegon, he looked more like a woman than a man, but he knew how to handle coin and spies. „Time is coin or is the other way around? Your Common Tongue is rather complicated!“

Aegon was pleased with the answers he received, but he too worried about Rhaenys.

Yet, he couldn’t turn back. It was time to cut off the lion’s head.

„I think we should bring the dragon’s as well,“ Daenerys said later when Aegon had joined her in the dragon’s sleeping place, an old chamber that must have been used for storing matters. The dragons seem happy enough. Baelerion was lying next to Daenerys and his head was resting on her arm. Vhagar lay curled in the corner of the room and Viserion was feasting upon a leftover piece of black meat.“They are the symbol of our house and it will show the Lords of Westeros that the dragons have returned!“

Aegon agreed with her, but he also feared for the dragon. They had grown immensely since they had sailed from Volantis to Westeros, but they were still vulnerable to weapons.

Yet, he didn’t want to discount Daenerys‘ suggestion. She was his queen.

„You are right,“ he said at last and noticed that Meraxes was watching him with interest. „We should show them to Westeros.“

Daenerys beamed. „I thank you, Aegon. The dragons will not disappoint! I know it!“

…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next: Jon at the Wall.
> 
> I know I skipped the battle of Storm's End, but I am going to write the final showdown between Aegon and Tywin as a battle and Jon will fight at the Wall and there is also Robb who will do some battle stuff.
> 
> So I skipped it this one time.


End file.
